Peter Rhodes on manic monarchs, second-hand gifts and the unkind cries of “Send 'em back!”

When, on a whim in 1976, I joined the Territorial Army, they issued me with 1938-pattern webbing and a shell-dressing bandage dated 1944. They also shouted at us a lot. The army had an unfortunate tradition of making recruits feel they had done something wrong.

As Syria staggers toward an uncertain future, the cry of “send 'em back!” is raised at Syrian asylum seekers already in Britain. If there's no Assad and no danger, goes the shrill argument, why should we provide a home for them?

So bear in mind that some of those who fled Assad's execution yards and torture chambers have been settled in Britain for years. Locked in our endless asylum process, they have raised children who speak English, consider themselves British and know no other land than this. And we would round up these bewildered, terrified kids and ship them off to Syria? I like to think we are better than that.

Wolf Hall (BBC1) ends this weekend with (spoiler alert) Thomas Cromwell parting company with his head. It is a series made with much love and attention. And though thoroughly steeped in Tudor values, this yarn of Henry VIII and various wives has an important message for employees everywhere: If your boss seems uproariously happy and rather too jolly to be true, find out how many heads he has chopped off recently.

Henry's counsellor Thomas Cromwell was related to Oliver Cromwell – but only just. Thomas was Oliver's great-great-grand uncle. One for the pub quiz.

Once more unto the high street, dear friends. Over the past few years, Mrs Rhodes and I have rejected crass commercialism and eschewed brand-new Xmas gifts. The presents we give each other must all come from charity shops and cost a total of no more than £20. I can't tell you how recyclingly virtuous this makes you feel. The only downside, as Mrs Rhodes pointed out a few days ago, is that one gets some rubbish presents.

Eschew. Great word. Must use it more often.