A sense of belonging

Despite my antipathy towards having to work Sundays, I actually enjoy the wander down from our flat to Ealing Broadway tube on a Sunday morning. The bus stops, usually peopled by smoking schoolkids and harrassed commuters are replaced by Poles waiting to catch coaches back to their homeland, laden with the fruits of their labour (generally in the same large tartan bags used across the whole of Central and Eastern Europe). Once past the bus stops, there is a small crowd of older Poles that congregate outside the largest Polish shop, opposite the station. The are all smartly dressed, many of them with badges (signifying what, I don't know, but given their age (late 60s-70s), they may be the children of the Polish resistance). They have clearly been meeting and chatting outside this shop as the bells in the Polish church ring for many years.