Upstairs, gypsy musicians play as old men bicker and fight over bridge.These days, the centre attracts Poles who are now coming over, legally or otherwise, to make some money They are mistrusted, looked down on. Fabulous paintings by Topolski and others cover the massive walls. Perfectly dressed women with bright red lipstick work behind the counters. The place is full of professional people, many born here, and they still speak Polish. This magnificent centre, with its restaurants, card rooms, a theatre and cafe, was built entirely with private cash. Once demobbed, Hampel became a grave-digger, Janusz a kitchen porter, while Boleslaw hand-made lavatory chains. Then they went to college, qualified, and obviously found prosperity.

We felt outraged." So they took up the role of a government and army in-waiting, refusing to accept what had happened to their country. Some died before democracy finally came to Poland.But they coped, they tell me, as we emerge from that dark tunnel of recollection. They kissed the backside of Mr Stalin".So do they have mixed feelings about the Allies? Not really, says Hampel: "We have very definite feelings. We drink coffee, eat delectable doughnuts with rose-petal jam filling, and they regale me with history which is wet-blood fresh.

They were never to share in the joy of victory because, as they see it, Poland was betrayed by "that Roosevelt and his communist wife, Eleanor. They fought with the Allies and were invited to come here in 1949. Their grandchildren were born here, but the Polish centre in Hammersmith is still thriving. Here, Marak, the chef, serves up authentic Polish food to all those who cannot forget where they came from. He laughs: "They love the food and try to believe that they are not going to put on weight if they eat Polish cakes or potato dumplings."I sit with four effusive, retired men: Boleslaw, Zbyszek, Janusz and Hampel. "I look at those pictures of Isfahan, I read Hafez, an old poet, and the ghost that lives inside me stirs. I don't know why I love it so much." The Moroccan writer Fatima Mernissi describes this as a drift of the hopeless towards the only area where "phantasms can flourish, toward the past."Ba Ba Iranian Cafe, 222 Uxbridge Road, London W13Poles apartThey've been here for over half a century.