Underneath a railway bridge on the edge of Glasgow's city centre there's a tiny street called Schipka Pass. It doesn't go anywhere, and on some maps it doesn't appear at all. One of the half-derelict buildings on the street is occupied by something called the St. Andrew's Market. Every centimetre of the outside of this market is covered in home-made, hand-painted signs and billboards commemorating obscure events in Scottish history, or the results of long forgotten football matches. In amongst all these are three or four that actually relate to the business itself, and they all say the same thing: 'rubbish bought, antiques sold'.
This curious byway, just east of Glasgow Cross, holds a Crimean War memory in its name. Of the hive of old closes that environed it originally, little is left. In its day it took the place, doubtless, of an older lane which saw kings and bishops, and Mary, Queen of Scots, herself, and heard the jingling of Claverhouse’s dragoons, the shots of Covenanters, the clash of Wallace’s sword, the very step, perhaps, of Prince Charlie. For the "pass" is at the heart of Glasgow’s historic past.