It was a day which represented two years of campaigning in microcosm: Yes supporters showing their colours, and more than a few "Shy Nos."

At the new Govan Campus primary school in Glasgow, equal numbers of Yes and No campaigners flank the entrance gates approaching voters on their way into the primary school.

The separate teams are as mixed as the people of Govan themselves in terms of differing ethnicities and nationalities - an American, Welshman and Scottish-Asian all giving out leaflets and answering questions in a last-minute attempt to help with queries and make up minds.

Govan is on my list of polling stations to visit with a note from a colleague that this could be the place where tensions - or feelings - may be running high (the exact phrasing was "very tasty," which I quite liked).

Representatives from Yes are more forward here than at other poll stations, asking those leaving the school outright what they've voted for. The Welsh campaigner is marking down the answers on a piece of paper divided into three columns: Yes, No, and No Answer.

It's interesting the way this last box is judged. Men and women who engage with the assembled No campaigners (and Govan MP Ian Davidson) and who shuffle past without meeting the eyes of the Yes team while clutching their No leaflets are marked as 'no answer' when they refuse to comment. A more intuitive approach might yield different results.

The Yes team at Govan campus undoubtedly have the chat. They are warm and genial, confidently approaching people to ask if there are any unanswered questions they can help with. And when prompted, the answers given are concise and clear - and relatively impartial - especially from the younger campaigners.

The majority of voters here are relatively covert about their allegiances, though. A few aren't. A gentleman in a wheelchair is handed both sides' flyers and takes them before his companion, incensed, snatches the No leaflet from his hands and throws it on the ground.

After they have voted, said companion makes his way over to the Yes team and motions to the Scottish-Asian No campaigners speaking to people a short distance away, hoping for camaraderie. "See these people round the corner? What have they got to do with Scotland? She's not even from here!"

The Yes team respectfully, but firmly, turn away and back to wishing the huge majority of peaceful voters a nice day on their exit from the school, irrespective of which of the three boxes has been newly marked.

Father and son Peter and Steven Barbour are voting Yes and No respectively and have come down to Govan Campus to cast their votes together.

Peter is a fan of dismantling Westminster and taking control back while Steven simply believes an independent Scotland will fold in 10 years. Both predict a union majority, though.

"It'll be a no, and it'll be a missed opportunity for sure," says Peter. "But I respect my son for his decision, and likewise."

Govan Campus has a police presence, as do many of Scotland's polling stations.

Across the city, at Hillhead Primary, officers mill about and approach representatives from both sides only when the crowds of people stopping to chat and talk about their votes become too full to allow access into the school.

If it turns out this is the biggest problem that police have to contend with on voting day, then it can be considered a success.

It's easy to see when Yes voters leave Hillhead Primary - if it hasn't been ascertained by their badges or T-shirts (and the odd homemade flag), their decision is often announced and good-hearted discussion entered into with folk from their side.

They are visible and vocal, much like the Yes campaign itself. Wallace the dog has Yes stickers on both ears and one on his forehead and attracts much attention as he bobs down the street.

Yet No voters are much more difficult to spot. Much of it is guesswork - John with his dog Rosie simply stops at the No stand and enters into conversation about his dog on his way out before wishing them good luck and all the best.

The No campaigners tell me this has been a regular thing and that they believe this is people's way of showing their colours. An unspoken but sure agreement.

At nearby Notre Dame Primary, it seems, at least 10 No voters give an obvious wink, or a small and covert thumbs-up and grin to No campaigners outside after the deed is done.

The secret winkers at Notre Dame mostly don't want to stop and talk and few take leaflets. They don't want to give interviews to a TV company outside, which is understandable since the crew and presenters are Catalonian. They don't wear badges and they haven't made their own T-shirts. But they are there.

The stream of voters through the doors of all the stations is steady and constant. Students and staff with lanyards on from the city's universities. Mums with double buggies struggling to navigate gates and corners.

A senior gent in full kilt dress who taps the side of his head when asked what he is voting. He's keeping it to himself and neither should he have to tell anyone - a vote is a private, confidential thing.

A taxi ride yields further insight. The driver - full of that very specific wisdom a strand of Glasgow taxi drivers seem to have - says I'm his first pick-up going to a polling station. "I've voted already, via a postal vote because I wasn't sure of my shifts."

We talk about how he's voted and how it felt to actually mark the x in the box. "It was just momentous. It's a huge thing, a part of history. When the M74 was being built I used to tell my kids 'check that out - that's history in the making.' But this is on another level. I've voting Yes, but I've friends who have voted No and that's absolutely fine.

"It's the most incredible weapon for change you can have, being able to vote. Who needs a gun when you have a pencil?"