Tag: Henry II

On a Merry Gang

We hear the phrase Toxic Masculinity these days to help us define and understand the concept of a male who believes that men are the dominant gender and should be free to exercise that dominance in any and all situations. Hostility towards women (whether overt or covert), lewd or rude behavior (“No one can tell me what to do!”), and a sense of entitlement all mark the toxically masculine. Not that men have often behaved in this manner throughout history, but the rise in the practice of such behavior in some quarters has been a reaction to what is perceived to be a feminization of men by society at large.

That was certainly the impetus behind the formation of what came to be called The Merry Gang. This group of mostly wealthy young men from prestigious families in England met to bemoan the condition of manhood in their country. They decided to live their lives like they thought the men of medieval England did–not caring for what others thought of their behavior and doing pretty much what they pleased. They took inspiration from King Henry II from the 1100s and said that, when Henry ruled, men were men (whatever that means), and what they felt was the current social convention of men “getting in touch with their feelings” and being considerate and kind was only men becoming more like women. Thus, they sought to return to the “good ol’ days” which, apparently to them, meant behaving like boors and creeps.

Some of the deliberate outrageous behavior of the Merry Gang included exposing themselves to women at any and all opportunity, appearing drunk and obnoxious in public, and bragging loudly for all to hear of their sexual “conquests.” They would walk down busy London streets and touch women as they pleased, making crude remarks as they did so. Now, some might say this sounds like a case of “boys being boys,” but that’s the point, isn’t it? The Merry Gang believed that kindness was equal to femininity and the de-masculinization of men in English society. That weakness, as they saw it, was everything that was wrong with the modern world, and they sought to fight against the rising tide of equality and the idea of men getting in touch with their feelings.

Their leader, an earl named John Wilmot, had the political and financial clout to get any of their group out of trouble with the law if they ever were caught or charged with their outlandish antics. For example, two of the Merry Gang’s members were in a pub, and they were drunk. They decided to go upstairs to the pub’s balcony above a busy London street and get naked. Once they’d done that and drew the attention of the passersby on the street below, the pair began miming lewd, sexual acts for the stunned and shocked crowd. Apparently, according to reports of eyewitnesses, they also took a large bottle of wine and loudly toasted to the health of the new King Charles, a man they saw as one of their own for his own reported sexual exploits. Soon, the constables were called, and the two were jailed. Wilmot not only bailed them out and paid their fines, but he also rewarded both of them handsomely.

To further spread their concept of what a man should be, the Merry Gang gave money to artists and writers and creators who felt the way they did. Sadly, the group found that they had a rather large audience for such “manly” artistic creations, and the artists and creators they supported financially flourished. Most of the public was outraged, and protests erupted against the group, but, predictably, Wilmot and his pals could not have cared less.

But, as these things often do, their antics grew tiresome even if they were still toxic. People grew bored with the group. The group began to age. Some of them drank themselves into alcoholism and early graves. Wilmot quietly stopped financing the artists and withdrew from society. In fact, he died from an STD at age 33, a disease he contracted from a prostitute. I mean, you can’t get more “masculine” than that, eh? The Merry Gang proved that toxicity runs both ways, harming both victims and perpetrators. Thus, the Merry Gang ended up being not so merry.

But, sadly, their toxic mentality is still present today–350 years after Wilmot died in 1680.

On a Hunting Buddy

My friend Greg back in Tennessee said that the difference between hunting and fishing is that no one thinks you’re odd if you fish alone. The idea is that hunting seems to be a sport enjoyed with friends, companions, and buddies. The shared camaraderie of the hunt goes back centuries to prehistory and continues today. One such couple of hunting buddies in England grew up in vastly different circumstances but became best of friends through hunting.

Tom was born to a middle-class and land-holding family on the outskirts of London when that area was still largely pastoral. Because his father owned land, Tom was able to enjoy some privileges most young men of his social level couldn’t. for example, he was able to spend time on the estate of a local lord, a friend of his father, and a man who taught young Tom the intricacies of hunting. At the estate, he learned about falconry, even, and how to run the dogs and corner game. Tom loved it; the outdoors, the thrill of the chase and the hunt, and the attention to detail of dealing with the falcons appealed to his sense of order. At the age of 20, he was sent to college where he studied theology and eventually found work as a clerk for a large cathedral in England. He proved to be an efficient administrator, and he was recommended by the Church to go to work for the government.

It was in this government position that Tom met Hank, a man who was also in government service, and one who shared Tom’s interest in hunting. The two began to hunt together. Hank wasn’t as careful with the details as Tom was, but he was a smart fellow, and Tom enjoyed his mind and his company. And, after the hunts, the two men would often share a drink and share stories. A bond was formed. The pair of hunting pals soon became inseparable, sometimes even forsaking their governmental responsibilities for the sake of the time they spent in the field and over their drink. Henry was from the upper class, and, as such, had the means to go to hunting lodges across England and take Tom with him. And, so, they hunted and drank, and drank and hunted.

Then, Tom was appointed to another position and left his governmental department. And the nature of his relationship with Hank changed, in part because, in Tom’s new role, he was now in charge of a part of what Hank was doing in government. Instead of a friend, Hank now saw Tom as someone who was trying to control his career rather than simply be his hunting chum and best friend. Hank appealed to Tom and their friendship to not be his overseer and remain his friend. Tom, on the other hand, took his new responsibilities seriously. He tried to tell Hank that it wasn’t personal, that his job required that he perform certain tasks that, even if Hank found them to be intrusive, were still part of his job.

The rift between them grew. Hank was now hunting and hanging out with other people, people he would later say were nowhere near the intellect and wit of his old friend. And, one night, while drinking with these new friends, Hank made the remark that he wished Tom could be removed from his position someway, somehow. Some of the drinking buddies swapped looks. They liked Hank and his money. They liked the drinking and the girls they sometimes had in the parties with them. And they wanted to impress Hank.

So, thinking that the drunken, offhanded remark about removing this man meant something else, several knights of the court of King Henry II entered Canterbury Cathedral on December 29, 1170, and killed Archbishop Thomas Becket.