ONE of the best loved characters of Scottish fiction is brought to

theatrical life by Scottish Youth Theatre during Mayfest. He is Wee

Macgregor, whose tales first appeared in the Evening Times at the turn

of the century and were later turned into a book which has since sold

hundreds of thousands of copies.

Wee Macgregor is a boy of around seven or eight from the decent and

kind sort of working-class family with which Glasgow's East End abounds,

now and then. He has a wee sister called Jeannie, A Maw called Lizzie

and a Paw called John.

He had his genesis, 10 years before author J.J. Bell put pen to paper,

in an overheard fragment of conversation on a Glasgow Fair Saturday on a

boat going doon the watter when a distracted mother of five said to her

eldest, ''Macgregor, tak yer paw's haun, or ye'll get nae carvies tae

yer tea''. Carvies are, of course, sugared caraway seeds, unfashionable

these days except in Indian restaurants, but a widely used

breath-sweetener and children's treat at the time.

The language and the dialect are part of the charm of the stories and

the play, with words like stroop (the spout of a teapot), sumph (a

lout), and grumphy (a pig) and they are instantly recognisable in

context. The show is a series of 10 episodes linked by some of the

younger members of Scottish Youth Theatre who play street games like

skipping ropes, peever, gird and cleek, songs of the period, including

some Music Hall.

Hunch Cuddy Hunch, anyone?

Wee Macgregor is played by James Shepherd who was such a successful

Peter Pan last year and he has got a big act to follow. Macgregor was

last played on stage by Willie Elliot, a Glasgow messenger boy, in 1911.

He enlisted in the Gordons in the Great War, was three times wounded,

and was last heard of raising a family in Canada. The play ran for seven

weeks at the Royalty Theatre and later went on a short tour. J.J. Bell

said of that production, modest man that he was, ''as a drama it was

without merit; its dialect alone would have prevented it going far

afield; but the players made the most of it and the author confesses

that it did him good to hear the audience laugh''.

Despite his doubts about its inability to travel, an attempt was made

by a Frenchman to translate it (he gave up) and the author received

enquiring letters from German philologists regarding the derivation of

toorie, peely-wally and jaw-box which as every Glaswegian -- at least

the ones over 50 -- knows, means the wee bobble on a Glengary, pale and

feeble looking, and the kitchen sink.

Scottish Youth Theatre are to be commended for their efforts to make

these heart-warming stories available to a wider public. I read these

stories at least twice a year and have just read the entire book again.

I still cackle at the jokes and my eyes still fill and occasionally

spill over at the sentimental bits.

Nobody ever went broke writing heart-warming stories about really nice

people -- especially not by and for Glaswegians -- and I heartily

recommend that you try to see this show.