To try and give you a more general answer than saying "they stopped in England by x-century or so", i'm going to have to come at this in quite a roundabout way...

"Joking relations are only ultimately egalitarian. Any given instance, from any given point of view, is not egalitarian at all. It is an attack. But since license between joking partners is reciprocal, such attacks can always be expected to more or less balance out in the end. Here again, avoidance can be seen as an inversion of joking. On the level of avoidance the body is closed, all orifices shut off and nullified; nothing flows either in or out. The body is constituted as a perfect, abstract, and self-sufficient thing unto itself, with no need for exchange either with other bodies, or the world. Now, this sort of separation itself can’t imply a relation of hierarchy, simply because separating two things implies that there is no relation between them at all. But avoidance is ultimately hierarchical." — Graeber, D. (2007) Manners, deference, and private property: or, Elements for a general theory of hierarchy Ch 1 in Possibilities: Hierarchy Rebellion and Desire. AK Press, Oakland, CA pp. 19-20.

The quotation above from the late David Graeber comes from an article in which he presents a dichotomy between jocular and avoidant relationships, to provide a model for exploring the origins of social and political domination. While Graeber was not claiming that all horizontal relations are imbued with humorous exchange (or that all vertical relations lack such), he was arguing that a relationship between equals can tilt towards verticality - over time - through the restriction of jocularity. In this sense, good manners serve to marginalize more than they “maketh man”.

That there is a correspondence between rigid hierarchy and strict norms of behavior is evident from the dual-meaning of the word “noble”. And, what is more, sticklers for manners are often associated with an almost perpetual sense of humor failure; an example of this is Queen Victoria of the apocryphal refrain “we are not amused”. Although manners usually derive from a desire to inspire considerate behavior (ethical conduct that cannot be legislated for), the unspoken rules of decorum bolted onto this moral aspect contain many norms that lack relevance to one seeking to be a good person. One might say, in the words of Pierre Bourdieu, that these etiquettal additions are mere distinctions, which subordinate the mannered to more extensive restrictions on behavior (sapping their natural liberty and political happiness), whilst also serving to act as cultural capital - a mark of comparative rank - which the unmannered masses, to their minds, do not possess.

There should be no doubt that manners start off with good intentions: chivalry - which coalesced in the crucible of the Crusades - began as an attempt to regulate the chaotic and violent marauding of western European élites; however, the High Middle Ages saw other “domesticating” aspects bolted onto this ethical core. Evidence of this may be found in Konungs skuggsjá, a piece of speculum literature from the medieval North:

"There still remain a number of things which a man should not fail to hear discussed and to reflect upon, if he is to attend on kings or other magnates and wishes to be ranked among them as a worthy man. But there are three things (which are, however, almost the same in reality) which one must observe with care: they are wisdom, good breeding, and courtesy. It is courtesy to be friendly, humble, ready to serve, and elegant in speech; to know how to behave properly while conversing or making merry with other men; to know precisely, when a man is conversing with women, whether they be young or older in years, of gentle or humble estate, how to select such expressions as are suited to their rank and are as proper for them to hear as for him to use. In like manner when one speaks with men, whether they be young or old, gentle or humble, it is well to know how to employ fitting words and how to determine what expressions are proper for each one to take note of. Even when mere pleasantry is intended, it is well to choose fair and decent words. It is also courtesy to know how to discriminate in language, when to use plural and when to use singular forms in addressing the men with whom one is conversing; to know how to select one’s clothes both as to color and other considerations; and to know when to stand or sit, when to rise or kneel. It is also courtesy to know when a man ought to let his hands drop gently and to keep them quiet, or when he ought to move them about in service for himself or for others; to know in what direction to turn his face and breast, and how to turn his back and shoulders. It is courtesy to know precisely when he is free to wear his cloak, hat, or coif, if he has one, and when these are not to be worn; also to know, when at the table, whether good breeding demands that one must watch the great men partake of food, or whether one may eat and drink freely in any way that seems convenient and proper. It is also courtesy to refrain from sneers and contemptuous jests, to know clearly what churlishness is and to avoid it carefully." (Konungs skuggsjá, chapter 40)

These additional taboos clearly served to hedge the king and his court about with taboos in recognition of his otherness and that of his vicinity, magnifying his authority; nevertheless, they also show a distinction being drawn between those of rank and the rest of society. As such, the entrenchment and consolidation of hierarchy correlates to the development of elaborate codes of manners, explicit in which is the suppression of humor.

Humor here is a double-entendre: not only is it the vital spirit of joking and jollity, it was also the medieval medical model for the functioning of the human body. In the suppression of both humor and the humors through manners, we see the grim advance of de-humanizing norms which cast aside individuality (charisma, conation, and carnality) for the sake of institutionality (instrumental objectification and habituality, in the sense of habitus).

The Icelandic Commonwealth can be - with some reservations (cf. Orri Vésteinsson, A Divided Society (2008)) - considered to have been a remarkably egalitarian society amongst its medieval peers. Only in Iceland do we see defiance and disregard for hierarchy in the style of Wat Tyler met with good humor by those from opposite ends of the social hierarchy:

"There was a man named Ásbjörn, the son of Guðmundur smiður Salómonsson. Ásbjörn was a vagrant and a manly man, though he was not of a great family. Ásbjörn came before Þórður and asked ‘why have you made it known that you only intend to solicit the support of house-holders for your mission? Will you not have others join you? I will offer you my services, and I intend to be of much more use to you than some householder. Provide me with a company of men, and I will then attempt to recruit householders. I feel it would be fitting for us to stick together.’ Þórður liked the idea and responded that he would make it happen. The following morning, Þórður found Ásbjörn nine men and dubbed the group ‘the Guests’." (*Þórðar saga kakala (*2020), 59).

However, the end of the Icelandic Commonwealth period over the course of the Age of the Sturlungar saw the culmination of power consolidation in Iceland, as well as an innovation: the establishment of foreign kingship over the island. There have been numerous structural explanations provided by scholars for this development from analyses of the weaknesses implicit in the Commonwealth’s constitution, to work done to apply concepts of state formation to institutional evolution in early Iceland. As for examinations of political culture, foreign influences such as the introduction of feudalistic oaths of allegiance alongside chivalric literature from Norway seems to have rendered evolution towards a more rigidly ranked society a possibility within the Icelandic mentalité.

During this time of increasing stratification and the commencement of monarchic over-rule, the charismatic, competitive and chthonic ideal native chieftain - often cunning and a consummate comedian (cf. Hvamm-Sturla, the titular character of Sturlu saga) - became gradually supplanted by the model royal appointee, characterized by well-mannered obsequiousness and obedience. Bringing in a king above native leaders - especially a foreign monarch - results in the “undomesticated” power of the former being consolidated and sublimated to a higher authority in return for the prestige of royal service. Though, of course, the “prestige” gained from retainership may well dazzle - one ought to always bear in mind that this term originally meant “deceit”. And this hits on a key insight: the death of humor is the birth of lies - the midwife of hierarchy in a world where all are created equal.