My grandfathers were of the great generation. Neither had a particularly distinguished war. My paternal grandfather broke his back in an accident on a troop ship en route to India. My maternal grandfather spent the war in Haifa as a member of a military fire brigade. Still, I am proud that both presented as volunteers on the day after the King made his fateful broadcast to the nation.
My mother’s father worked in a gas works and came home as dirty as any coal miner. When clean North Sea gas made him redundant, he got a job in a local car factory where he worked until he died. His life revolved around fishing and frequenting his town’s pubs and clubs. He changed politics according to the standing of the parties’ social clubs’ darts teams; playing for Liberal, Conservative and Labour clubs in turn. His proudest achievement was reaching the quarterfinals of the News of the World darts championship. He carried his medal in his jacket pocket at all times. He was kind and funny. Sadly, he died young.
My father’s father was funny too – on a good day. When a friend asked if he was “norry” (local dialect for bad-tempered) because of his injuries, he cheerfully replied that no, he had always been norry. His main problem with being crippled (he loathed the euphemism “disabled”) was that it stopped him playing sports. He had played football for his town, cricket for his county and table tennis (“don’t call it ping-pong”) for his country. Losing the ability to play was a serious blow to his competitive nature. He solved that by taking up pigeon racing—and excelling at it. When he retired as President of the sport’s governing body, Her Late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II sent him a bird from her loft at Sandringham as a gift.
What these two very different men had in common was that they had no feminine side. Being a man was never a problem to them. They’d both gone to war for their country without hesitation. Neither of them thought anything of it. It wasn’t special, just necessary. Every man worthy of the name did it. It merited no reflection.
These men, my father and his three brothers were my role models growing up. I wish they were all here today to discuss the concept of “toxic masculinity” though I fear they’d call me gay for wanting to!
The more I think about our country’s decay, the more sure I am that decadence is feminisation. There’s an essential place for female virtues in a balanced society. There’s nothing wrong with being feminine, if you’re a woman. It is a very bad idea, however, if you’re a man. No nation can prosper without its due portion of the manly virtues. While it’s worrying that there are believed to be more young men in Britain prepared to join ISIS than the British Army, I am not just talking about defence.
Too many men in Britain are unashamed of failing to support themselves and their families. A ridiculous proportion of them, for example, claim welfare benefits for mental illness. They say they’re too anxious to work. I can well imagine how my grandfathers would react to that. They wouldn’t waste a second considering that these claims might be genuine. They’d see the phenomenon as the scam it mostly is. They would regard the claimants as moral degenerates. They’d blame the claimants’ parents for rearing them to be liars, and their fathers for raising them as weaklings.
Years ago a female friend raising a little boy alone worried he lacked male influence. I invited them to come stay with me, which they did on several occasions. On one visit her son got into a fight with another toddler at a local playground. I happened to be at hand. As the two mothers converged on us, panicking, I spoke quietly to the combatants. I said they shouldn’t be hitting each other and that their mums were going to be upset. I then complimented the other boy on the punch that had floored my young friend and praised the latter for the brave way he’d taken it. By the time their mums arrived, they were friends playing happily together.
Both mothers were shocked by my handling of the situation. Perhaps it was not modern fathering, but that doesn’t mean it was wrong. If we want a world in which men are dangerous when necessary but controlled around their womenfolk (and we do) it was precisely the correct approach. It’s not one that will feature in the many fatherless households, which are among the worst unintended consequences of the Welfare State.
Over lunch this week, Babicka – a friend and former colleague – was urging me to try psychotherapy. Her therapist helped her with the grief of losing her late husband and still remains on the books. I personally consider therapy a decadent luxury for anyone not actually suffering from mental illness. If it were of any clinical use, Woody Allen would have been cured millions of dollars ago.
Even male therapists are mostly just professional female friends. I write from limited direct experience, I admit. My late wife and I tried couples therapy many years ago, when our marriage was in difficulties. The late Mrs P. eventually fired the therapist for suggesting I might not be entirely to blame for our problems. She actually accused the therapist of “fancying” me! I suspect there’d be very little repeat business for an honest therapist. So they’re just part of the modern quest to avoid all responsibility for our own failings by scapegoating others –whether one at a time or by broad categories.
Some other sucker is always now to blame. That is as far from manliness as it’s possible to be.
When a marriage is in trouble, the husband’s friends will tell him, in a practical spirit, that all marriages are problematical; that divorce will lose him most of his money and might cost him access to his children. They’ll point out that any replacement life partner will have her own issues, which might even be worse.
Meanwhile the wife’s friends will tell her – “supportively” – that her concerns are all valid, that she is a saint and her husband a demon. Any who suggested the husband might not be all bad would immediately be suspect. My first marriage would never have lasted 31 years if male friends were like female ones.
If we are to restore our nation, we will have to restore masculinity to its rightful place as not a vice, but a virtue. Not the only virtue, of course, but a necessary one. That does not require a political debate. The fathers of sons simply need to do what good fathers have always done –set a quiet, firm, good-humoured example. They need to turn their backs on modern sensibilities and be more like my grandads.
As for the rest of us men, we can contribute too. We can buy pints for, and generally give moral support to, the fathers who hold our nation’s future in their hands.
Leave a comment