Bernard dared to smile a little smile, and Humphrey turned on him. ‘And as for you, young man, if your Minister bites the dust your reputation as a flyer — such as it is — will be hit for six. You’ll probably spend the rest of your career in the Vehicle Licensing Centre in Swansea.’
‘My God,’ said Bernard quietly.
We sat in silence, lost in our own tragic thoughts, for some considerable time. I heaved a sigh. So did Humphrey. Then Bernard.
Of course, the whole thing is Sir Humphrey’s fault. Reducing the number of autonomous government departments was an idiotic proposal, playing right into the hands of our enemies. I said so. He replied that it was all my fault, because of my proposal to the Think-Tank to carry out the phased reduction of the Civil Service.
I pooh-poohed this as a ridiculous suggestion because the Think-Tank hasn’t even seen our report yet. But Humphrey revealed that the Party sent an advance copy to the PM from Central House.
So perhaps we’ve both dropped ourselves in it. Anyway, there was no point in arguing about it, and I asked Humphrey for suggestions.
There was another gloomy silence.
‘We could put a paper up,’ he said finally.
‘Up what?’ I asked. Brilliant!
Humphrey asked me if I had any suggestions. I hadn’t. We turned to Bernard.
‘What do you think, Bernard?’
‘I think it’s appalling,’ he repeated. A lot of use he is.
Then Humphrey proposed that we work together on this. This was a novel suggestion, to say the least. I thought his job was to work with me on all occasions. This seemed like an admission. Furthermore, his idea of our working together is generally that he tells me what to do, and I then do it. And look where it’s got us!
However, I asked him what he had to suggest.
‘With respect, Minister,’ he began. This was too much. I told him not to use that insulting language to me ever again! Clearly he was about to imply that anything I had to say on the subject would be beneath contempt.
But Humphrey reiterated that he really meant that we should work together. ‘I need you,’ he said.
I must admit I was rather touched.
Then, to my utter astonishment, he suggested that we sent for Frank Weisel.
Humphrey is clearly a reformed character. Even though it’s probably too late to matter!
‘You see, Minister, if the Prime Minister is behind a scheme, Whitehall on its own cannot block it. Cabinet Ministers’ schemes are easily blocked…’ he corrected himself at once, ‘… redrafted, but the PM is another matter.’
In a nutshell, his scheme is to fight this plan in Westminster as well as Whitehall. Therefore he believes that Frank can help to mobilise the backbenchers on my behalf.
I suggested that Fleet Street might be of use, if Frank can get the press on our side. Humphrey blanched and swallowed, but to his credit agreed. ‘If there is no other way, even Fleet Street…’ he murmured.
February 4th
Frank was away yesterday. So we had the meeting with him today.
He’d just heard the news. We asked for his reaction. For the first time that I can remember, he was speechless. He just sat and shook his head sadly. I asked him what suggestions he had.
‘I can’t think of anything… I’m appalled,’ he replied.
We all agreed that it was appalling.
So I took charge. ‘We’ve got to stop flapping about like wet hens. We’ve got to do something to save the Department from closure. Frank, get through to the Whips’ office to mobilise the backbenchers and Central House, to stop this before it starts.’
‘I’m awfully sorry to quibble again, Minister, but you can’t actually stop things before they start,’ intervened Bernard, the wet-hen-in-chief. He’s really useless in a crisis.
Frank pointed out that this idea of mine wasn’t much good, as the scheme to abolish the DAA would probably be popular with backbenchers. So I pointed out that it was Humphrey’s idea, anyway.
Bernard’s overnight deliberations led him to propose a publicity campaign in the press, full-page ads praising the Department. He offered us some slogans: ADMINISTRATION SAVES THE NATION and RED TAPE IS FUN.
We just boggled at these ideas. So he then suggested RED TAPE HOLDS THE NATION TOGETHER.
Sometimes I really despair of Bernard.
There was a long pause, after which Humphrey remarked bleakly, ‘There’s no doubt about it, the writing’s on the wall.’
None of us can see any real hope of averting catastrophe.
It’s appalling!
February 5th
Life must go on, even while the Sword of Damocles hangs over us.
Today we had a meeting about the Europass. This was a completely new development. I’ve never even heard of it. Apparently there’s been information about it in my boxes for the last couple of nights, but I’ve been too depressed and preoccupied to grasp anything I’ve read.
It seems that the Europass is a new European Identity Card, to be carried by all citizens of the EEC. The FCO, according to Humphrey, is willing to go along with the idea as a quid pro quo for a settlement over the butter mountain, the wine lake, the milk ocean, the lamb war, and the cod stink.
Apparently the PM wants me to introduce the necessary legislation.
I’m horrified by this.
Sir Humphrey was surprised at my reaction. He’d thought it was a good idea as I’m known to be pro-Europe, and he thinks that a Europass will simplify administration in the long run.
Frank and I tried to explain to the officials that for me to introduce such a scheme would be political suicide. The British people do not want to carry compulsory identification papers. I’ll be accused of trying to bring in a police state, when I’m still not fully recovered from the fuss about the Data Base. ‘Is this what we fought two world wars for?’ I can hear the backbenchers cry.
‘But it’s nothing more than a sort of driving licence,’ said Humphrey.
‘It’s the last nail in my coffin,’ said I.
‘You might get away with calling it the Euroclub Express,’ said Bernard. I told him to shut up or get out.
Frank asked why we had to introduce it, not the FCO? A good question.
‘I understand,’ explained Humphrey, ‘that the PM did originally suggest that the FCO introduce the measure, but the Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs suggested that it was a Home Office measure, and then the Home Office took the view that it is essentially an administrative matter. The PM agreed.’
Frank said, ‘They’re all playing pass the parcel.’
Can you blame them, when they can hear it ticking?
Humphrey then observed mournfully that the identity card bill would probably be the last action of our Department.
Frank and I, unlike the civil servants, were still puzzled that such a proposal as the Europass could even be seriously under consideration by the FCO. We can both see clearly that it is wonderful ammunition for the anti-Europeans. I asked Humphrey if the Foreign Office doesn’t realise how damaging this would be to the European ideal?
‘I’m sure they do, Minister,’ he said. ‘That’s why they support it.’
This was even more puzzling, since I’d always been under the impression that the FO is pro-Europe. ‘Is it or isn’t it?’ I asked Humphrey.
‘Yes and no,’ he replied of course, ‘if you’ll pardon the expression. The Foreign Office is pro-Europe because it is really anti-Europe. In fact the Civil Service was united in its desire to make sure the Common Market didn’t work. That’s why we went into it.’
This sounded like a riddle to me. I asked him to explain further. And basically, his argument was as follows: Britain has had the same foreign policy objective for at least the last five hundred years — to create a disunited Europe. In that cause we have fought with the Dutch against the Spanish, with the Germans against the French, with the French and Italians against the Germans, and with the French against the
Italians and Germans. [The Dutch rebellion against Philip II of Spain, the Napoleonic Wars, the First World War, and the Second World War — Ed.]
In other words, divide and rule. And the Foreign Office can see no reason to change when it has worked so well until now.
I was aware of all this, naturally, but I regarded it as ancient history. Humphrey thinks that it is, in fact, current policy. It was necessary for us to break up the EEC, he explained, so we had to get inside. We had previously tried to break it up from the outside, but that didn’t work. [A reference to our futile and short-lived involvement in EFTA, the European Free Trade Association, founded in 1960 and which the UK left in 1972 — Ed.] Now that we’re in, we are able to make a complete pig’s breakfast out of it. We have now set the Germans against the French, the French against the Italians, the Italians against the Dutch… and the Foreign Office is terribly happy. It’s just like old times.
I was staggered by all of this. I thought that all of us who are publicly pro-Europe believed in the European ideal. I said this to Sir Humphrey, and he simply chuckled.
So I asked him: if we don’t believe in the European ideal, why are we pushing to increase the membership?
‘Same reason,’ came the reply. ‘It’s just like the United Nations. The more members it has, the more arguments you can stir up, and the more futile and impotent it becomes.’
This all strikes me as the most appalling cynicism, and I said so.
Sir Humphrey agreed complacently. ‘Yes Minister. We call it diplomacy. It’s what made Britain great, you know.’
Frank, like the terrier that he is, wanted to continue worrying away at the problem of the Europass. ‘How will the other EEC countries feel about having to carry identity papers? Won’t they resist too?’
Sir Humphrey felt not. ‘The Germans will love it, the French will ignore it, and the Italians and Irish will be too chaotic to enforce it. Only the British will resent it.’ He’s right, of course.
I must say that, to me, it’s all beginning to look suspiciously like a plot to get rid of me. Frank doesn’t subscribe to a conspiracy theory on this occasion, on the grounds that I’m to be got rid of anyway as my department is to be abolished.
But I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that the PM just wants to make absolutely sure. Frank told me not to be paranoid, but I think he’d be paranoid if everyone were plotting against him.
‘We’re on your side, Minister.’ Sir Humphrey was trying to be comforting. Life is full of surprises!
Then I had an idea. I suddenly realised that Martin will be on my side. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it before. He’s Foreign Secretary — and, to my certain knowledge, Martin is genuinely pro-Europe. (Humphrey calls him ‘naïf’). Also I ran his campaign against the PM, and he only stands to lose if I’m squeezed out.
We’ve arranged a meeting with him on Monday, at the House. I can’t think how he can help, exactly, but between us we may find some lever.
February 8th
All is well. The battle is won. My career, Humphrey’s career, and the DAA have all been saved by a brilliant piece of political opportunism, of which I am extremely proud. Plus a little bit of luck, of course. But it’s been a very satisfactory day.
We all gathered conspiratorially at Martin’s office. He was full of his usual second-rate witticisms.
‘You’ve done a Samson act, Jim.’
I, presumably, looked blank.
‘You see, you wanted to reduce the Civil Service, and you’ve done it. You’ve pulled the whole superstructure down — and buried yourself.’
I didn’t know whether I was supposed to smile, or congratulate him on his wit, or what.
Sir Humphrey, of course, couldn’t wait to join the analogy game. ‘A Pyrrhic victory,’ he intoned mournfully, presumably to remind us all that he is a classicist.
‘Any ideas?’ I asked Martin.
He had none. So we all had another of our tremendous gloomy silences.
Frank, fortuitously as it turned out, continued worrying away at the puzzle of why the PM wanted to introduce a Europass. ‘I don’t understand it. It doesn’t make sense. Why can’t the PM see the damage it’s going to do to the government?’
I agreed, and remarked that this Europass thing is the worst disaster to befall the government since I was made a member of the Cabinet. [We don’t think that Hacker actually meant what he seems to be saying here — Ed.]
Martin was quite calm about the Europass. ‘Everyone knows it won’t happen,’ he said.
Who does he mean by ‘everyone’? I certainly didn’t know it wouldn’t happen — but then, I didn’t even know it would happen till yesterday.
‘The PM,’ continued Martin, ‘has to play along with it till after the Napoleon Prize is awarded.’
Apparently the Napoleon Prize is a NATO award, given once every five years. A gold medal, big ceremony in Brussels, and £100,000. The PM is the front runner. It’s awarded to the statesman who has made the biggest contribution to European unity since Napoleon. [That’s if you don’t count Hitler — Ed.]
‘The award committee meets in six weeks,’ said Martin, ‘and so obviously the PM doesn’t want to rock the boat until it’s in the bag.’
I think I caught Bernard mumbling to himself that you don’t put boats in bags, but it was very quiet, I might have misheard, and he refused to repeat what he’d said which makes me think I didn’t mishear at all.
‘And,’ said Martin, reaching the point at last, ‘once the prize is won, the PM will obviously dump the Europass.’
I had this wonderful idea. I couldn’t quite articulate it. It was slowly forming in the back of my mind. But first I needed some answers.
‘Martin,’ I asked. ‘How many people know about the winner of the Napoleon Prize?’
‘It’s top secret,’ he said. Naturally, I was disappointed. Top secret means that everyone knows.
But not this time, apparently. ‘Top secret, top secret,’ said Martin.
I was now so excited that I was becoming incoherent. ‘Don’t you see?’ I said. ‘Backbenchers… leaks…’
A puzzled Humphrey asked me if I were referring to the Welsh Nationalist Party.
And at that moment God was on my side. The door opened, and in stepped Dr Donald Hughes. He apologised, and said he’d return later, but I stopped him. I told him that he was the very man I wanted to see, that I wanted his advice, and invited him to take a pew.
He pretended that he was eager to help me. But he warned that if it were a case of shutting stable doors after horses have bolted, even he would be powerless to help. I said, flatteringly, that I’m sure that he would not be powerless. I put it to him that I was in a serious moral dilemma — which, of course, I invented at that very moment.
My dilemma was this, I said. I told Hughes that I knew that a backbencher was planning to table a question to the PM about whether or not the Europass is to be adopted by Britain.
Hughes was immediately jumpy. ‘Which backbencher? The Europass is top secret.’
‘Like the winner of the Napoleon Prize?’ I asked.
We eyed each other carefully — I wasn’t entirely sure of my next move, but thankfully Bernard stepped in with an inspirational reply. ‘I think the Minister means a hypothetical backbencher,’ he said. Good old Bernard.
Hughes said that it was highly improbable that such a question would be asked.
I ignored that, and explained that if the question were to be asked, there were only two possible replies: if the PM says yes it would be damaging to the government in the country — but if the PM says no it would be even more damaging to the government in Europe. And to the PM personally — in view of the Napoleon Prize.
Hughes nodded, and waited. So I continued. ‘Suppose a hypothetical Minister got wind of this hypothetical backbencher’s question, in advance, what should he do?’
‘The only responsible course for a loyal minister,’ he said carefully, ‘would be to see that the question
was not tabled. That must be obvious.’
‘It’s a serious business trying to suppress an MP’s question,’ I said. Of course, he and I both knew that, as yet, there was no question and no such backbencher — but that there could be, if I chose to set it up.
‘The only way to stop him,’ I offered, ‘might be to let the backbencher table a question asking the PM to squash rumours about the closure of the Department of Administrative Affairs.’
There it was. My offer of a deal. Out in the open. Hughes paused to consider, just for a few moments, in case he could see a way out. But there was none.
And, to his credit, he handled it superbly. At once out came all the appropriate phrases: ‘But I’m sure… whatever made you think?… no question of anything but the fullest support…’ etc.
Then Humphrey, who’d got the idea at last, moved in for the kill. ‘But you said only a few days ago that the plan to abolish the Department had been put up and the PM was smiling on it.’
‘Smiling at it,’ said Donald Hughes smoothly. ‘Smiling at it, not on it. The idea was ridiculous, laughable, out of the question. A joke.’ Beautifully done — I take my hat off to him.
So I asked him for a minute from the PM’s office, to be circulated to all departments within twenty-four hours, scotching the rumour. So that we could all share the joke.
‘Do you really think it’s necessary?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Humphrey, Bernard, Frank, Martin and I. In unison.
Hughes said that in that case, he was sure it could be arranged, that it would be a pleasure, how much he’d enjoyed chatting to us all, excused himself and left. Presumably he hurried straight to Number Ten.
Game, set and match. One of my most brilliant performances. I am exceedingly pleased with myself.
Bernard asked, after Donald Hughes had gone, if Hughes can really fix it for us. ‘Don’t Prime Ministers have a mind of their own?’ he asked.
‘Certainly,’ I said to Bernard. ‘But in the words of Chuck Colson, President Nixon’s henchman, when you’ve got them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.’
The Complete Yes Minister Page 12