Conjure me if you will a cave full of magic, of potions, powders, bangs, farting noises, and laughter – lots of laughter. An emporium of childish delights, and pure devilment, where pocket-money prices could create moments of sheer magic. That place was/is Tam Shepherd’s Trick Shop.

No wander up Queen Street was complete without a laugh and a chuckle at their window display. Now, sadly, like the white rabbit of Alice’s dream, that magic is to vanish from the bricks and mortar world – hopefully only temporarily – into the online realm.

With the entire Queen Street block due for redevelopment into – you’ve guessed it, student accommodation – the Walton family, the long-time guardians of the city’s magic secrets, have made the tough decision to, for now, close the door which granted entry to that innocent world of trickery, sleight of hand, illusion, delusion, and delight.

Like most small Glasgow boys, and girls, I was once part of that magic circle, squandering my pocket-money on a succession of cheap tricks; spring-loaded chewing gum, fake dog poops, stink bombs, black-face soap.

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In a world where magic – Tommy Cooper, Ali Bongo, Paul Daniels – could still waltz-off with top Saturday night TV viewing figures, the shop provided a portal for countless would-be wizards and witches. My goodness, they could even sell you the proper costume to go with your routine.

Long before JK Rowling dreamt up Harry Potter, here was a Hogwart’s of the imagination.

The shop has been providing bafflement, bewilderment, and innocent delight since the original ‘wizard’, Tam Shepherd set up his magic emporium on the site in 1886. Imagine the small boys of Victorian Glasgow delighting and terrifying their parents, sisters, maiden aunts, teachers, and classmates, with their tricks. Gas-lit Glasgow parlours echoing to the laughter and shrieks of ‘dear happy ghosts’.

One Christmas, an uncle, himself no slouch in plucking 10p pieces from behind my ears, bought me my own box of tricks. I’d be about seven, and learning how the ‘magic’ worked was like looking behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz. I’d been granted entry into a world where up could be down, right could be left, where I could make water vanish, and grown-ups groan and laugh.

Tam Shepherd's stands on Queen Street in Glasgow in November 1972Tam Shepherds stands on Queen Street in Glasgow in November 1972 (Image: The Herald) Tam Shepherds' well known shop frontTam Shepherds' well known shop front (Image: Colin Mearns)

In truth, had I but known it, some of the tricks I was learning – is this your card? – were as old as the shop itself. That’s the wonderful thing about magic – it’s magic!

The late Roy Walton, who bought the business in 1969, brought his own magic to Queen Street. An avuncular, twinkly eyed, softly spoken Londoner, he was a bit like the shopkeeper in Mr Benn. While he could delight children with simple tricks and jokes, he could also baffle the best in the business with his slight-of-hand. He was a world-renowned card magic expert, known for creating hundreds of effects and tricks with cards, and acted as a friend and mentor to countless stage and TV magicians.

His three-volume collection of books, ‘The Complete Walton’, is the Bible of card tricks, many invented by Roy himself. Welcome to the wonderful and mysterious world of The Multiple Shift, The Half Pass, The Weave Shuffle, The Monte Throw, The Turnover Pass, The Second Deal, The Bottom Deal, The Ghost and Jordan Count, The Hamman Count.

In my teens, I used to stand and watch a shaggy-haired, foul-mouthed, street magician baffle passers-by with his magic hands. That man was Jerry Sadowitz. Now, imagine my surprise when I once saw him, complete with battered top hat, vanish into Tam Shepherd’s. Curious, I followed him in. There, at the end of the counter, Roy and Jerry were deep in conversation; the old master and the young pretender.

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Embarrassed to have stumbled into their magic circle, I bought a packet of exploding paper snappits and vanished out the door.

When Roy died, aged 87, in 2020, Jerry was the first to pay public tribute to his friend and mentor, describing him as “The greatest card magician and the most exemplary human being I ever knew”.

Jerry concluded with this line: “Real giants move quietly among us and this one managed Tam Shepherd's Joke Shop in Glasgow for fifty years.”

For as long as small boys want to giggle, frighten, baffle and bother the lieges with tricks, real giants, and real magic, can still coexist in Glasgow. As Airdrie-born author, DJ, and all-round mischief-maker David Keenan always reminds me ‘magic is real’. And, God knows, we all, no matter what age, need a little bit of mystery, trickery, fun, and magic in our lives.

Now, if we all just believe, and suspend our disbelief, perhaps the Walton clan can conjure up another shop. Now, that would be magic…

Norry Wilson is a journalist and digital content creator who runs the highly successful Lost Glasgow Facebook page, 'dedicated to the documentation, discussion and appreciation' of the city's history. You can find and follow Lost Glasgow here.