112-114 Stockwell Street, Glasgow, G1 4LW
0141 552 8681

A short history of The Scotia Bar and its surroundings

Stockwell street is one of the oldest thoroughfares in Glasgow and was for long the welcome to strangers entering the City and the River Clyde's oldest bridge. Seeking refuge from famine and landlords brutality, folk from The Borders, the Highlands and Ireland came to their journeys end among the burgeoning industries on Clydeside. Despite the horrifying living conditions that often had to be endured , many laid down their cultural baggage helping to settle an industrial community rich in social diversity. As the work shop of the world , Glasgow hammered and welded itself into the tough and intelligent 'Workers City' by which it is remembered today.

Thankfully, no matter how brutish the conditions, where there`s work there`s money, the desire to spend it and never the shortage of means of leisure and pleasure to help you. The areas from Trongate to Clyde Street and Saltmarket to The Stockwell became the wildest and wettest part of Glasgow. Hundreds of pubs, shebeens and brothels absorbed the most eccentric thirsts while at the same time seeding a long tradition of shouting and bawling and gutter crawling.

As the 18th Century came to a close, the foot of Stockwell Street was the site of much development with many sturdy tenements being built and a number of licensed public houses opening. Distinct from the drinking dens that littered the area in 1792, Ye Olde Scotia Inn was opened. Straight away it was established as a respectable pub as workers and seaman from the docks and yards along the Clydeside finished off their working day with a bede of the barley. Being one of the decent pubs in the area, 'The Scotia' became almost too busy for it`s own good but the pressure was eased when in 1819, The Clutha Vaults opened just across the road. Named after the ancient Clyde, it complemented 'The Scotia' as a workers pub used by the people coming off the Clutha-Boats which taxied them up and down the riverside warehouses, shipyards and foundries.

Always buzzing with stories and stirrings of common-folk, the two pubs became popular for that old Glasgow past time 'wan singer wan song'. By the time The Scotia Theatre opened as Glasgow's first popular music-hall in 1862, its neighbours The Scotia Bar and The Clutha Vaults were well used to theatrical characters. Although the 'Clutha' underwent numerous name changes, the two pubs had enjoyed an enduring period of bustling business when they were joined by The Victoria Bar opened in 1867 on the corner of the Briggait and Stockwell Street. Together the formed a strong triangle of good cheer which deserved to outlast all the others in the area; and did.

Throughout the rest of the 19th and late into the 20th century, the three pubs were well known landmarks, as colourful as Glaswegians themselves. Regulars came from all parts as well as the workshops and markets in the Briggait but the 'Scotia' was the most affected by the proximity of the theatre, which by now had changed it`s name to 'The Metropole'.

For years the The Stockwell (triangle) provided the perfect fib for many a timorous intemperament. They could excuse themselves for going to the theatre while the only role they would see is when they met themselves coming backwards tumbling home full of the relaxed and forgetful. In 1961 The Metropole Theatre was destroyed by fire and but for the Folk-Revival and C.N.D. movement, the 'Scotia' would have extinguished along with it.

Impossible to find a howff in the Southside that could survive glasgow`s systematic demolition programme, the Gorbals and Govan Young Socialists adopted The Scotia. At the same time folk-revivalists from the doomed Marland Bar in George Street were on the look-out for a new H.Q. The intrepid trio of Billy Connolly, Tam Harvey, and Mick Broderick set off in search of the barman who would tolerate their rantings and found him in The Scotia. The blend of humorous blethering, socialism, folk-music and downright violent pacifism that carried The Scotia into the 1970s became legend.

Meanwhile, as Glasgow spiralled into the post-industrial decline and its refugees were herded into the peripheral Council homelands, the City Centre around Stockwell Street died. In the early '70s the Fishmarket and the Briggait closed down and both the Victoria and Clutha (know as The Wee Mans), took a bettering. They both managed to stay afloat due to the overflow from the phenomenally popular Scotia. At that time, the 'Blue Angels' started to frequent it and although they were bikers with a violent reputation, there wasn`t much trouble. A peaceful coexistence was was established through the mutual interest of music. Neglect by the owners led to a deterioration in standards with toilets overflowing and the beer tasting like it was from that overflow. As this blight took hold, the pub became erratic and soon there were violent battled among customers on a nightly basis. Fair to say, the Blue Angels having been infiltrated by a new breed of vicious belligerents were largely responsible for most of the violence.

In the mid-seventies the Scotia Folkies escaped to the Victoria Bar which became known as the 'Vicky' by the singers and musicians who stowed it out every night. This migration only slightly affected The Wee Mans which remained morbidly quiet, but it was to eventually cost the absolute decline of the Scotia. With the Vicky bursting at the seams, the Scotia became a violent no-go area - eventually closing down. In the intervening years, many people tried to reopen it but always failed. Meantime, The Wee Mans was ironically renamed The Merchants. Just as trade declined to a level as remote from the good times as it was from the original character of the Clutha Vaults. That`s how it was in 1987 when The Scotia was refurbished and a new approach adopted to try and get the old crowd back. Halcyon days can never be hauled back but it was worth a try; after all, The Vicky was still flourishing with the songs and music which marked its revival in the seventies.

The aim was to restore The Scotia to the socialist pub it was in the sixties, but with the words, music and maturity of the 1990s. The set of circumstances through which it became re-established, were not especially phenomenal but nonetheless special. By 1992, that community which had been cast adrift in the 1970s came together again with their younger successors bound by a much stronger philosophy than ever before. Not as perishable as the naive flowerpot morality that cushioned them through the sixties. The harsh realities of the twentieth century, always prominent for those not on moral or intellectual vacation, are no longer forgotten.