Exiles in British sociology

We have all seen them, foreheads wrinkled like a ploughed field, pastel-shaded check summer shirts worn in winter, desks festooned with yellowed index cards covered in hieroglyphics, books like yours only in plainer covers and read more carefully, filthy cigarettes, an accent growing thicker with age. But we have all seen them too, the luxuriant thatch at seventy, the jacket and tie, the tidy desk, the London club and the house in the country, the pipe, the disdain for small talk made all the more intimidating by an English acquired somewhere between grammar school and Oxford. Self-contained in a way only the uprooted can be, mysterious because you never knew what questions to ask them, emissaries from worlds they have lost and you have never known: the Polish gentry, the central European peasantry, Jewish merchants, German workers and, most puzzling of all, the continental European middle class