FOR camera-wielding tourists expecting the live equivalent of toy soldiers in scarlet tunics and bearskin helmets, this would have been a disappointment.

The First Battalion – although there is only one battalion these days because of cutbacks – of the Scots Guards marched through Glasgow's city centre in a homecoming parade on Saturday in their brown serge service uniform.

But although less colourful, it was more appropriate. These were not brightly clad soldiers of London postcards, but duty-weary veterans returned from Afghanistan. Many wore campaign medals to show that they have had more things fired at them than cameras at Buckingham Palace.

They marched from Blytheswood Square down to George Square where Lord Provost Sadie Docherty took the salute at the cenotaph opposite the City Chambers. On their shoulders was the Army's SA80 rifle fixed with bayonets. It's a much improved SA80 from the original which was dubbed the civil servant – you couldn't make it work and you couldn't fire it.

Along the route bystanders clapped, occasionally shouting encouragment such as: "Welcome home, lads." Home is actually Catterick in Yorkshire, but as the name suggests the battalion recruits in Scotland, and many proud families were in George Square to see sons and nephews.

Others with no family connections applauded in recognition of young Scots doing a life-threatening job. The cenotaph itself still has the weatherbeaten crosses and wreaths laid last Remembrance Day, but beside them are fresher bunches of flowers remembering Drummer Lee Rigby, hacked down in Woolwich.

Glasgow on the face of it has less of a connection with the Army than Edinburgh. There are no army camps in the city since Maryhill Barracks were demolished to make room for housing, leaving just part of the perimeter wall and the old guardhouse. It was that guardhouse that Hitler's deputy Rudolf Hess was originally held in after he flew to Scotland during the war in his abortive attempt to negotiate a peace deal. It was there that Hess asked to be moved out of Glasgow as, he said, "I am anxious not to be killed by a German bomb."

Thousands of soldiers passed through Maryhill Barracks over the years, not only in wartime but during national service. The actor David Niven played hockey while stationed there. Broadcaster and author Clement Freud, grandson of psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud, told the story of reporting for duty at Maryhill Barracks accompanied by a chap whose name was read out after Freud's as "Jung". Thinking of the other eminent psychotherapist Carl Jung, Clement cheerily told him that was the most amazing coincidence, the two of them arriving at the same time. His fellow recruit listened to him impassively before eventually saying: "My name's actually Young."

If you believe that Glasgow is a violent city, then you probably assume it has bred some warlike soldiers. And it is true that researchers have traced 29 Victoria Cross holders who were either from Glasgow or were buried here. Most, though, were modest men. Sergeant Robert Downie from Springburn, who led a faltering First World War attack after the officers had been scythed down, went on to be a cashier at Celtic Park, and when asked about his medal would shrug it off, saying he got it for shooting the cook.

Another strange distinction for Glasgow is that during the First World War, men under five foot three inches were not recruited, which in the city, thanks to poor diet and poor living conditions, meant thousands were overlooked. So the Rotary Club – it really should have stuck to fetes and charity events – petitioned the Government to allow a "Bantam Battalion" to be formed in Glasgow allowing diminutive men an equal chance to be killed for their country. Some general was quoted in the Glasgow Herald at the time saying it was a splendid idea as short chaps would be better at dodging bullets.

Romances flourished as well in the city. We remember a reader telling us of a South Side wedding reception during the Second World War when the bride wore a wedding dress fashioned from an old parachute donated by army friends. A guest muttered: "Let's hope the wind doesn't get up the day."

Yet there was often an undercurrent of ambivalence in Glasgow about the armed forces. Maryhill Barracks, it must be remembered, were built to keep an eye on the unruly in Glasgow where city fathers feared a spirit of protest going back to the industrial revolution.

Political historians will often tell you about the 1919 workers' strike in Glasgow when 10,000 troops were sent from England in case the unrest turned into a Russian-style workers' revolution. Tanks were even quartered near George Square, but were never used in anger. Sometimes revolutions can peter out just by themselves, particularly when leaderships fall out over what should happen next.

The teachers' union, the EIS, once wanted the Army banned from Glasgow schools, arguing that recruitment staff were visiting schools in housing schemes too often, preying on the vulnerable. It would be laughable, though, to suggest that the straight-backed confident soldiers marching through Glasgow at the weekend looked like vulnerable members of society.

However when the soldiers were dismissed, George Square rapidly filled up again, this time for protesters against the Government's bedroom tax. Supporting troops in Glasgow is one thing. Supporting Government policies is another.