The man they call 'Wee Eck' led the Scottish Nationalists to a stunning electoral victory last week. Now he must tackle the thorny issue of independence

As far as a vote goes, alternative or otherwise, there was little to doubt in the voice of the Scottish electorate who turned Britain's political map on its head last week. Alex Salmond was resoundingly re-elected to Aberdeenshire East with 19,533 votes, a majority of 15,295. More significantly, in a stunning victory, Salmond's Scottish Nationalist party took the majority of the seats in the Edinburgh Parliament.

Scotland's first minister, once written off as a radical entrenched in historical grievances, was hailed as the saviour of Scottish self-determination, the towering figure who had presided over a minority administration for four years and emerged with the nation's dignity intact.

The man who loves Robert Burns and the Proclaimers was born the second of four children, in Linlithgow, West Lothian, on Hogmanay 1954. The family home was a council house; his mother was a Tory, while his father was staunchly Labour. One of Salmond's favourite anecdotes is how his dad switched to SNP, appalled by the rudeness of a Labour canvasser who called them Scottish Nose Pickers.

The young Salmond cut his nationalist teeth at St Andrews University, studying under acclaimed Scottish historian Geoffrey Barrow who later said he had been his "star student" and that it was obvious that he was going places. After graduating, he worked as an economist with the Royal Bank of Scotland before setting about recovering the fortunes of Scottish independence politics.

One of his first coups after being elected SNP leader in 1990 was to persuade the most famous Scot in the world – Sean Connery – to voice a party political broadcast that almost cost the actor his knighthood – Labour's Donald Dewar tried to block it.

"Alex is head and shoulders above every other politician, not just in Scotland but the UK," said Connery, now his golfing buddy. "When we first met, he had an enthusiasm and intellect that impressed me."

But more importantly, "Wee Eck" as he's known, has won the backing of wealthy Scottish businessmen. Brian Souter, boss of Stagecoach, is an SNP donor; another high-profile backer is Sir David Murray, former owner of Glasgow Rangers FC, who, like many thousands of Scots, wanted Salmond as first minister but insisted he doesn't want independence.

Salmond has been accused of duplicity over the campaign, run under the slogan "Be part of better", in playing down his objective to end the 300-year-old union with England.

That underestimates the man and the voter, says Professor James Mitchell, author and political scientist at Strathclyde University, who argues that his political opponents had misunderstood just what a "serious, substantial figure" Salmond had become.

"The public is always cleverer than politicians or the media think," says Mitchell. "There is nothing intrinsically different about Scottish voters. They know the SNP has a rather radical, long-term objective but there is no big mystification for them. They know voting SNP isn't a breaking up of the union; there will be a referendum and the most likely outcome is that the referendum will be lost."

The greater debate, says Mitchell, and others, is the debate about funds. According to this scenario, the greatest problem for Salmond is not independence but showing how Scotland can pay for the policies that Scots want.

"The scary part that this is the guy who is going to break Britain apart is a notion long gone," says Mitchell. "It's a misreading of the politics to see it otherwise; it's all part of the pragmatic approach he has always adopted. What devolution has done has assisted those in power to mature. Salmond was a man who was supposed to be going to bring the sky down if he came into power. In fact, he proved competent."

Salmond's detractors get irritated by his apparent air of being pleased with himself –"smug' and "arrogant" are often flung at the man, who defends himself by saying he is an optimist in a nation that has been known to take a perverse pride in its pessimism.

"He has an expertly constructed optimism, a purposeful buoyancy that puts out this 'we are going to do' message," says Scottish writer Neal Ascherson, who was impressed by the young Salmond when he saw him out canvassing in the 1980s.

"He is a combination of cunning run through with streaks of almost mad optimism. Quite a natural politician, he is an extraordinarily brilliant long-game player, a calculator. Sleek and smart, those wee black eyes dart from side to side and while others blether and blunder he just keeps to his game and he's always witty. He's not stupid."

After four years holding together an often fraught minority administration, perhaps the advantage last week was all Salmond's. No one thought he stood a chance when he became first minister in 2007, but he showed a fairness and steered the ship in a way that reassured voters, who have now given him his first proper mandate.

Last week, the Scottish Sun, which on polling day in 2007 ran a hangman's noose on its front page as a warning of the consequences of voting SNP, was backing Salmond all the way.

To the disgust of many on the right, even the Scottish Tory leader, Annabel Goldie, made it clear she would be happy to keep working with him; his main opponent, the Labour leader, Iain Gray, who resigned after the results came through on Friday, failed to make a single dent on Salmond's popularity.

His charm extends to the most unlikely of places – Salmond has a relationship with the monarchy that baffles many English left-wingers and old-school Scottish Nats. He has said he would want the Queen to remain head of state of an independent Scotland and he benefits from an affable relationship with the royal family. He has enjoyed many a dinner at Balmoral Castle and was invited to the royal wedding, unlike Gordon Brown or Tony Blair (he wore a saltire tie).

Although anti-union, Salmond has never sold himself as anti-English. Indeed, in 2000, he stood down as SNP leader and left the Scottish Parliament to concentrate on a life at Westminster before having a change of heart, under tremendous pressure from a dispirited party, in 2004.

"There is not an anti-English bone in my body. I have forgotten more about English history than most Tory MPs ever learned," he said during the devolution campaign he fought alongside Donald Dewar.

A private man, Salmond has been married for 30 years to Moira McGlashan, a woman 17 years his senior, who is rarely seen in public. Little else is known about his life behind the scenes. In a biography published last year, Salmond: Against the Odds, author David Torrance painted him as a man capable of "explosive rages" whose "merciless criticism" could leave members of his staff emotional "train wrecks".

One former staff member told Torrance that Salmond was such a hard taskmaster that it "wasn't actually possible to work for Alex and maintain a serious [outside] relationship".

But the book went on to praise his abilities as an orator who "exudes reason and authority" and sums him up thus: "In company, Salmond can be charming, intelligent, diverting and intriguing. He is without doubt one of the closest and most thoughtful observers of the political scene… he is, in short, an immensely attractive figure." Torrance even dares the ultimate comparison: "It is tempting to liken him to Robert the Bruce."

Salmond has many battles behind him now that the SNP has matured. Membership-wise, it is the fastest-growing political party in the UK. But while his party does share the objective of the 14th-century Scottish king – to win independence – he is unlikely to try to drag an unwilling electorate with him. "Independence could well evolve into something that darkens the border demarcation but doesn't dig a ditch," said one of his former party aides.

Labour famously said that giving Scotland devolved powers would kill off nationalism. Salmond seems living proof of how wrong they were.

There's a timely reminder, too, to the ebullient new king from Neal Ascherson, reminding us of the curse of the Scottish heart. Indeed, Salmond's growing paunch and greyish pallor are attracting increasing comment as being far from a walking advert for the good health he has promised to bring to the nation.

"If you look at the number of first-class Scottish politicians we have lost to a heart attack, it really is a national shame," says Ascherson. "He's not a man to be out Munro-bagging, he eats too many chips and that's something he needs to tackle."