The Complete Yes Minister

by Jonathan Lynn

  ‘Precisely,’ he said, ‘rather out of date in fact.’

  Remarkable! Premature and out of date?

  Humphrey amended this foolishness instantly. He simply meant ‘untimely’, he claimed. So again, I asked him why?

  ‘What I mean is, don’t you think it will be rather uninteresting to the general public?’ he whined.

  I couldn’t see why. It’s an example of partnership in industry that is really happening. Now. Extremely interesting. I said so.

  Humphrey seemed to be getting desperate. ‘Quite so, Minister,’ he said. ‘It is so interesting, in fact, that there is a danger that it will obscure the main point that you wanted to make on the broadcast.’

  ‘What is my main point?’ I asked, suddenly unable to remember.

  Humphrey also seemed to go blank. ‘Bernard, what is the Minister’s main point?’

  Bernard reminded us. ‘That private projects are more socially responsible with government money, and government projects are more efficient with private investment.’

  This was precisely my main point. And reference to the Solihull project will obviously underline it. Humphrey really is a wet blanket. He just goes around stirring up apathy.

  But he was still not satisfied. ‘Minister,’ he persisted. ‘I must advise you very seriously with all the earnestness at my command that you do not refer to the Solihull project on the air tomorrow.’

  Again I asked why? Again he dodged. But, by now, I had guessed. ‘Could it be,’ I enquired coldly, ‘that you are planning to take all the credit for this scheme at next month’s European Convention of Government Administration?’

  Humphrey said, ‘I beg your pardon?’ — in other words, he didn’t deny it! So I knew I was right. And I really tore him off a strip.

  ‘Your keynote speech will be well reported, won’t it? Well, let me explain some facts of life, Humphrey. Politicians are the ones who are ultimately responsible to the people, and it is we who get the credit. Not civil servants.’

  Humphrey intervened. He assured me that he would be only too happy for me to take the credit for this project, as long as it wasn’t tomorrow. Liar!

  I brushed this procrastination aside. ‘Humphrey,’ I told him firmly, ‘I am not going to fall for it. I am going to make all the political capital I can out of this Solihull project — I know a good thing when I see one.’

  [Hacker was completely mistaken. Sir Humphrey Appleby was trying to hush up all references to the Solihull project, with very good reason. Later that day Bernard Woolley, who had realised that there was more to this situation than met Hacker’s eye, sought an interview with Sir Humphrey — Ed.]

  SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:[13]

  It was clear to me that Sir Humphrey Appleby was engaged in a cover-up of one sort or another. However, I was adamant that I needed to be fully informed about this matter, as it did not seem possible for a £74 million building project on a nine-acre site in the middle of one of our largest cities to be swept under the carpet. Even if the brush were to be wielded by Sir Humphrey Appleby.

  Sir Humphrey told me that he intended to try to use the Official Secrets Act. I remarked that I couldn’t see how the project could be kept secret, as it was so big.

  ‘It’s a big secret,’ replied Sir Humphrey.

  I could also see no way to invoke the Official Secrets Act, when everybody knew about the project. I was young and green and had not yet fully realised that the Official Secrets Act is not to protect secrets but to protect officials.

  Sir Humphrey attempted to explain his evasiveness by saying that, as the Minister had not enquired into the background of the Solihull project, he didn’t wish to know. And it was, of course, standard Civil Service practice not to bother a Minister with information about which he had not enquired.

  I took my courage in both hands, and indicated that I might hint to the Minister that I believed that there was a scandal connected with the Solihull project. Naturally, I made it clear to Sir Humphrey that I might not do so were I myself to be put more fully in the picture.

  Sir Humphrey then came clean, rather reluctantly. I learned that the Solihull project had been set up by Sir Humphrey, acting for the DAA in partnership with Michael Bradley of Sloane Enterprises. This had happened long before my promotion to the Private Office.

  Subsequently the Solihull Report came in, containing a paragraph casting doubt on the financial soundness of Sloane Enterprises and Mr Bradley. [‘Casting doubt on the financial soundness’ means that Bradley was probably about to go bankrupt’ — Ed.]

  However, by the time the Report came out, Sir Humphrey was so committed to Bradley that it seemed a better risk to him to see the project through.

  Now that I knew the full facts I was in an invidious position. Naturally I could not tell the Minister something that I had learned in confidence from the Perm. Sec. Equally, I had a duty to prevent my Minister involving himself in this matter if I could. It seemed that all I could do was to remonstrate with Sir Humphrey.

  I explained that if the Minister knew the full facts he would certainly not be so foolish as to broadcast them. But Sir Humphrey insisted that as a matter of principle, Ministers should never know more than they need to know. Like secret agents. Because they may be captured and tortured.

  ‘By terrorists?’ I asked.

  ‘By the BBC,’ he replied. He also explained that the situation was not lost. The bank was dithering about whether or not to foreclose — a potential disaster. He was to have lunch that week with the Bank’s Chairman, Sir Desmond Glazebrook. So, meanwhile, there must be no mention of the Solihull project on the air or to the press.

  I was getting exceedingly worried about my part in what appeared to be a cover-up. I explained this to the Perm. Sec., who insisted that this was not a cover-up, it was responsible discretion exercised in the national interest to prevent unnecessary disclosure of eminently justifiable procedures in which untimely revelation would severely impair public confidence.

  This sounded even worse than I thought — like Watergate! However, Sir Humphrey explained to me that Watergate was quite different. Watergate happened in America.

  March 4th

  Today I did the broadcast on the Solihull project, about which I am beginning to feel a little uneasy.

  I drove with BW [Bernard Woolley — Ed.] to BH [Broadcasting House — Ed.]. I asked Bernard if I had correctly diagnosed Sir Humphrey’s reasons for not wanting me to mention the Solihull project on the air. This question seemed to cause Bernard considerable anguish, but he merely shook his head slowly and sadly.

  So I said to him: ‘What is Humphrey’s real reason for not wanting me to mention it?’

  Bernard opted for answering my question with a question, i.e. not answering — ‘Did you not think he gave six or seven very convincing reasons, Minister?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Did you think that?’

  He ducked that question too. ‘I’m sure,’ he said evasively, ‘that Sir Humphrey knows what he’s doing.’

  I’m sure he does. I only wish that I knew what Sir Humphrey is doing!

  I decided to approach it another way. I feel, and I don’t think I’m mistaken, that Bernard has a certain sense of loyalty towards me. So I asked him what he advised me to do.

  This put him into a frightful state. ‘Well,’ he said, panicking, ‘it’s not for me to advise, Minister, but if it were, I would be obliged to advise you that you would be well advised to follow Sir Humphrey’s advice.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ he dithered. ‘It’s just that, well, um, certain projects have certain aspects which, with sensitive handling, given reasonable discretion, when events permit, there is no prima facie reason why, with appropriate give and take, if all goes well, in the fullness of time, um, when the moment is ripe, um, um…’

  ‘Bernard!’ I interrupted him. ‘You’re blathering, Bernard.’

  ‘Yes Minister,’ he agreed wretchedly.

  ‘Why are you
blathering, Bernard?’ I enquired.

  ‘It’s my job, Minister,’ he replied, and hung his head.

  Clearly he is keeping something from me. But what? Foolishly, perhaps out of spite, I resolved to talk about the project on the air and get the matter — whatever it is — out in the open.

  But I now wonder if this was a mistake.

  Anyway, we recorded the broadcast and I talked, at some length, with some enthusiasm, about the Solihull project.

  [We have obtained the transcript of the broadcast discussion, and reproduce below the relevant pages. Those taking part were Hacker, Joe Morgan — General Secretary of the Commercial and Administrative Workers Union — and Sir George Conway, Chairman of International Construction Ltd — Ed.]

  I didn’t have time to go for a drink in the Hostility Room afterwards, but as I was leaving Joe Morgan buttonholed me.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, as if spontaneously, ‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning this, Mr Hacker, but I wonder if you’d be able to put in a word for my members’ claim for a special Birmingham allowance?’

  I naturally pointed out to him that I cannot conduct trades union negotiations in a BBC studio. Furthermore, it is a matter for the Department of Employment.

  Then he made a curious remark. ‘I was thinking, see,’ he said, ‘that after this broadcast people might start asking questions about the Solihull project, wanting to know more about it, you understand?’

  ‘I hope they do,’ I said, stubbornly. Well, I do!

  Then he said. ‘But, as we know…’ and he winked, ‘… there are some things…’ he winked again ‘… better not found out.’ Then he tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and winked again. ‘I’m sure we understand each other.’

  He grinned and winked again. I began to suspect that he was trying to tell me something. But what? Or — and the more probable explanation suddenly flashed into my mind — he knows something and he thinks I know too. But whatever it is, I don’t!

  I played for time. I watched him wink again and asked him if he had something in his eye. ‘Only a gleam,’ he replied cheerfully.

  I must have looked awfully blank. But he must have thought I was an awfully good poker player. He continued: ‘Come off it, Hacker, we’ve got you by the short and curlies. I’m asking ten per cent below London Allowance, and we’ll settle for thirty per cent below. Give you the credit for beating us down.’

  ‘There’s not going to be a Birmingham Allowance,’ I said abstractedly, my mind racing. ‘You’d better resign yourself to that.’

  ‘If anyone’s going to have to resign,’ countered Morgan, ‘it’s not going to be me.’

  Resign? What was the man hinting at?

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘The Solihull project, of course. I could hardly believe it when you took all the credit for it in the broadcast. Great courage of course.’ Courage — how did that dreadful word get into the discussion? ‘But whatever possessed you?’

  I didn’t know what he was on about. Cheerfully he burst into verse:

  ‘Cannons to the right of him

  Cannons to the left of him.

  Into the Valley of Death rode Mr Hacker.’

  I can’t think what he was talking about. I’m getting very worried indeed.

  [It appears that Sir Humphrey Appleby met Sir Desmond Glaze-brook for lunch at a club in Pall Mall on the same day as Hacker’s broadcast. Most unusually, Sir Humphrey kept no notes and made no memos as a result of that meeting. This omission — which broke the habit and training of a lifetime in Whitehall — indicates that Sir Humphrey was profoundly frightened that the matter discussed at this meeting should ever become public knowledge.

  Fortunately, however, a letter came to light many years later, sent by Sir Desmond on 5 March, the next day, to his wife who was wintering in Barbados — Ed.]

  59 Cadogan Square

  London SW1

  Dearest Snookums [Lady Glazebrook — Ed.]

  Hope you’re having a lovely hols, getting nice and brown and not forcing down too much rum punch.

  Things are going quite well here. I made a little progress towards getting a couple of good quangos for my retirement, at lunch yesterday with old Humphrey Appleby, Perm. Sec. at the DAA. [QUANGO — an acronym for Quasi-Autonomous Non-Governmental Organisation — Ed.]

  He’s got a bit of a problem at work. He’s got into bed with some idiot whiz-kid financier called Bradley, on a building project in Solihull. It seems that the whiz-kid has taken the money and run, leaving old Humphrey holding the bag. Anyway, I couldn’t follow all the details because I’d had rather too much of the claret but, to cut a long story short, as Bradley can’t pay his bills Humphrey wants our bank to take over the contract. He promised me that HMG would turn it all into a successful and profitable venture and all that bullshit. Whoever heard of the government being involved in a successful and profitable venture? Does he think I was born yesterday?

  Naturally, I’d be perfectly happy to help good old Humph. out of a jam — it can’t cost me anything, of course, since I’m retiring next year. But I told him that it’s up to the Board and it could go either way. He swallowed that, I think, or pretended to anyway. I naturally chose that moment to remark that I was hoping to hear news of the new Ministry Co-Partnership Commission. I’m after the Chairmanship — £8000 a year part-time — just the thing to boost my meagre pension, don’t you think, Snookums?

  To my astonishment he told me that my name was on a shortlist for a couple of quangos. Shortlist, mark you! Bloody insult. Quangos can’t suddenly be in short supply, no government ever cuts quangos without instantly replacing them with others. [At this time there were about 8000 paid appointments within the gift of Ministers to Quangos, at a cost to the taxpayer of £5 million per year — Ed.]

  Humphrey, of course, pretended it was difficult to find me a quango, rather as I’d pretended that it was difficult for the bank to find his money.

  He went through the most extraordinary routine. He mentioned the Advisory Committee of Dental Establishments, and asked if I knew anything about teeth. I pointed out that I was a banker. As I knew nothing about teeth, he then ruled out the Milk Marketing Board. Can’t quite see the connection myself.

  He offered the Dumping at Sea Representations Panel, asking if I lived near the sea. I asked if Knightsbridge was near enough — but apparently not. So it seems I’m out of the running for the Clyde River Purification Board too.

  Then, with every bit of the meal, Humphrey had a new idea. Rump steak suggested to him the Meat Marketing Board; but I don’t know a damn thing about meat. The fact that I eat it is not quite a close enough connection. So the Meat and Livestock Commission was ruled out too. I’d ordered Dover Sole, it reminded H. of the White Fish Authority. And, as the veg. arrived, he suggested the Potato Marketing Board, the Governors of the National Vegetable Research Station, the National Biological Standards Board, or the Arable Crops and Forage Board.

  With the wine he suggested the Food and Drink Training Board. When I asked for mustard he mentioned the Food Additives and Contaminants Committee, and when we saw a Steak Diane being flambéed at the next table he offered the Fire Services Examination Board, the British Safety Council, and the St John’s Ambulance.

  Of course, all of this was to make his point that he too was demanding a quid pro quo. But it was rather humiliating because after all this he asked me rather querulously: if I knew nothing about any of these quangos, what did I know about? I was forced to explain that there was nothing I knew about particularly — after all, I’m a banker. It’s not required.

  Then he asked me if there were any minority groups that I could represent. I suggested bankers. We are definitely in a minority. He didn’t seem to think that was the answer.

  He explained to me that the ideal quango appointee is a black, Welsh, disabled woman trades unionist. He asked me if I knew one of them, but I don’t.

  I remarked that women are not a minority group
and nor are trades unionists. Humphrey agreed, but explained that they share the same paranoia which is, after all, the distinguishing feature of any minority group.

  So at the end of this whole rigmarole he was basically saying that my quango chances boil down to his Ministry’s Industry Co-Partnership Commission, the Chairmanship of which is within the gift of his Minister.

  It sounds ideal, actually. There’s lots of papers but Old Humph. made it quite clear that it’s not awfully necessary to read them; that, in fact he’d be delighted if I didn’t bother so that I wouldn’t have too much to say at the monthly meetings.

  So it looks like we’ll be scratching each other’s backs. I’ll have a word with my board, he’ll have a word with his Minister, and I’ll see you on the beach next week.

  Your loving

  Desi-pooh.

  March 5th

  Had a very worrying conversation with Roy, my driver, today. Didn’t see him after recording the broadcast yesterday, because I was given a relief driver.

  Roy asked me how the recording went. I said it had gone very well, that I’d talked about government partnership with industry, and that there was a most interesting project going on up in the Midlands.

  I assumed he wouldn’t have heard of it. I was wrong.

  ‘You don’t mean the Solihull project, sir?’

  I was astonished. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You’ve heard of it.’

  Roy chuckled.

  I waited, but he said nothing. ‘What are you laughing at?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ he said. Then he chuckled again.

  He’d obviously heard something.

  ‘What have you heard?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing. Really.’

  I could see his face in the rear-view mirror. He was smiling. I didn’t like it.

  He was obviously laughing at some aspect of the Solihull project. But what? For some reason, I felt a need to defend it. To my driver? I must be cracking up. But I said, ‘We regard it as a shining example of a successful collaboration between government and private enterprise.’