THE guests were still standing stiffly as the singing of the sprightly national anthem ended, waiting for someone to take command and lead the way indoors. The children in national dress had no such inhibitions, laughing as they ran around the legs of those still standing to attention.

The national dress is really a folk costume, with the girls in black shoes, thick white tights, and peasant dresses enlivened with colourful designs. In their hair are garlands of flowers with a predominance of red hues. The boys have striped trousers, and a krakuska cap, the distinctive four-cornered red headgear, ornamented with ribbons and a peacock feather.

We are in the west end of Glasgow, just yards from the gates of Kelvingrove Park, but the children are in the national dress of Poland, a country that has deep roots in Glasgow dating back to the Second World War. Just a few miles away, for example, during the Clydebank Blitz, the crew of the Polish destroyer Piorun, which was in John Brown’s yard for repairs, took to their ship’s guns to put up a fearsome barrage to help protect the town from the Luftwaffe onslaught.

The reason for the outdoor ceremony is the unveiling on the wall of “Dom Polski” – the Polish House – on Parkgrove Terrace of memorial panels marking The Smolensk Disaster in 2010 when a plane carrying the Polish President, crashed in Russia killing all 96 on board, and also the sinking of the destroyer Orkan during the war, Poland’s worst maritime disaster.

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The plaques join the older one on the wall remembering the Katyn Massacre, when more than 20,000 Polish officers were shot by the Communists in Russia effectively to remove Poland’s leadership.

Without being flippant, you realise that this is a country that’s not had its troubles to seek.

I had not been in the Polish House before, but it was strangely familiar. There used to be many ex-servicemen’s clubs in Glasgow that followed a similar pattern – housed in a sandstone terrace with plainly decorated rooms for functions and a tiny bar in a low-ceilinged corner clustered with dark varnished tables and chairs, to help pay for it all.

It took me back to my Glasgow youth when such clubs with their late licences were a beacon for those trying to thwart Glasgow’s restrictive licensing laws.

The Polish House, though, is not some fading monument full of old men nursing half-empty glasses and dimming memories.

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It started as a vocational college after the war, helping to train Polish servicemen unable to return home because of the Communist takeover. Many Polish servicemen had been stationed in Scotland to help protect the coastline from possible German invasion.

It evolved over the years, becoming a meeting place for all Poles whose lives brought them to Scotland. English language courses were organised for Poles and Polish language courses for Scots who had married Poles.

Downstairs there is a Polish restaurant open in the evenings to all, and yes there is a bar for members with an extraordinary number of Polish vodkas on display.

But it reaches out to a community far wider than just Poles, and houses a chess club, a mother/toddlers club, an AA group, musical events and a film festival.

Such terraced buildings however, richly enhancing Glasgow’s skyline, need constant attention, and the Polish House is campaigning to raise £250,000 to modernise the club, install a lift, and make it a more attractive destination.

The talk amongst the guests should have been all about the club’s future, but although the sun was shining outside there was a metaphorical cloud over the proceedings. The belligerent talk from the Westminster Government about the future of foreigners when Britain leaves the EU, has brought disquiet to Poles who have lived in Scotland for decades.

Izabela Czekaj, a doctor who chairs the Polish Social and Educational Society, tells me of Polish families concerned about losing their jobs in Scotland. Others are worried about what restrictions will be placed on them visiting family in Poland post-Brexit.

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“We are part of Scotland,” she tells me, “but like most Scottish people we want to be part of the EU.

“We were one country with free movement, then suddenly you feel it is a barrier.”

It helped that the ceremony to unveil the memorial panels was attended by a Scottish Government Minister, Angela Constance. You have the feeling that the SNP Government is fanning out across the country trying to reassure minority groups.

As Ms Constance told the crowd: “We are lucky to have a large Polish community that influences our culture for the better. You are welcome here in Scotland, and we are very proud of the people who have decided to live here and make Scotland their home.

“The Scottish Government will do everything to ensure we remain an open, inclusive and outward-looking country.”

Fine words, well spoken, but you do wonder how the Scottish Government will be able to guarantee these sentiments in the face of a Westminster-driven agenda. As Tony Kozlowski, the son of a Polish father and a Scottish mother, confided: “Poles want to make their lives here, but nobody knows what’s going to happen.”

So they renew their efforts to raise the money to refurbish the Polish House, hopeful that it will have a use for decades to come. But as you watch the happy children in national costume laughing and playing, you look away, embarrassed for the first time that you live in a country that might not want them to live here in the future.