The Complete Yes Minister

by Jonathan Lynn

  His biggest and best weapon is elbows. I’ve got to elbow Corbett out of the way, or else he’ll elbow me. I explained to Annie that elbows are the most important weapon in a politician’s armoury.

  ‘Other than integrity,’ she said.

  I’m afraid I laughed till I cried. Tears rolled down my face. It took me five minutes to get my breath back — what made it even funnier was Annie staring at me, uncomprehending, as if I’d gone mad.

  I didn’t really get my breath back till the phone rang. To my enormous surprise it was Gaston Larousse — from Brussels.

  ‘Good evening, Commissionaire,’ I said. Perhaps I should have just said Commissioner.

  He was calling me to enquire if I’d let my name go forward as a commissioner of the EEC. I told him I was honoured, that I’d have to think about it, thanked him for thinking of me, etc. I asked him if Number Ten knew about it. He was evasive, but eventually said yes.

  [Notes of this phone call discovered many years later among Gaston Larousse’s papers suggest that he was not intentionally evasive. Hacker, presumably in an attempt to show that he was a linguist, enquired if Numéro Dix knew about the offer. Larousse did not initially equate Numéro Dix with Number Ten Downing Street — Ed.]

  What does this mean?

  I discussed it with Annie. Obviously, it would mean living in Brussels, as she pointed out.

  But what does it mean? Really mean? Is it a plot by Number Ten to ease me out? Or is it a coincidence? Is it a hint? Is the PM giving me a face-saving exit? If so, why hasn’t Number Ten told me? Or is it nothing to do with the PM? Was the vacancy coming up anyway? And it’s a great honour — isn’t it? Why is my life always so full of unanswerable questions?

  Then Annie thought of yet another question. ‘Is it a good job?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s a terrible job. It would be curtains for me as far as British politics is concerned. Worse than getting a peerage. Complete failure. You’re reduced to forming a new party to try and get back.’

  Annie asked what the job involved.

  I began to list it all. ‘Well,’ I told her, ‘you’re right in the heart of that ghastly European bureaucracy. It’s one big gravy train: fifty thousand a year salary, twenty thousand pounds expense account. All champagne and lobsters. Banquets. Overseas visits. Luxury hotels. Limousines and chauffeurs and private aircraft and siestas after lunch and weekends on the beach at Knokke-le-Zoute…’ I suddenly realised what I was saying. It’s strange how you can talk and talk and not hear yourself — not hear the implications of what you’re saying.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I finished, ‘we should go over there and have a look.’

  Annie looked hopeful. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Sometimes I think we deserve a bit of failure.’

  July 12th

  Had an interesting conversation with Roy[32] this morning. Of course, he knew all about the reshuffle.

  I assumed he’d read it in the Standard like me — but no, he first heard of it a couple of weeks ago. (Why didn’t he tell me? He knows that I rely on him to keep me fully informed.)

  But it seems he assumed I knew. All the drivers knew. They knew it from the PM’s driver and the Cabinet Secretary’s driver — apparently it’s been an open secret.

  Casually, I asked him what he’d heard — trying thereby to suggest that I had also heard things. Which I haven’t, of course.

  ‘Just the usual, sir,’ he replied. ‘Corbett’s in line for promotion, the PM can’t overlook him. And apparently old Fred — sorry guv, I mean the Employment Secretary — he’s going to get the push. Kicked upstairs.’

  He seemed utterly confident about this. I asked him how he knew.

  ‘His driver’s been reassigned.’

  ‘And what’s the gossip about me?’

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  Nothing! Was he telling the truth? There must be some gossip about me. I’m in the bloody Cabinet, for God’s sake.

  ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ said Roy. ‘My mates and I haven’t known what to make of that.’ He gave me a sly look in the rear-view mirror. ‘’Course, you’ll know what’s happening to you, won’t you sir?’

  He knew bloody well I’ve not the faintest idea. Or else he was trying to find out. More information to barter in the transport pool.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I replied, vaguely. I should have left it at that, but it was like picking at a scab. ‘’Course, it’s hard to tell about oneself sometimes — you know, whether one’s a success, or…’ He didn’t come to the rescue. I tried again. ‘Do your mates, er…’

  He interrupted me, somewhat patronisingly.

  ‘They all think you’ve done all right, sir.’

  Again!

  July 14th

  Yesterday was full of meetings. Cabinet, Cabinet Committee, three-line whip in the house — I got very little time with Bernard. Not enough for a real conversation.

  But Bernard’s always given me loyal support, he’s a bright fellow, and I decided to seek his advice.

  I told him, over a cup of tea this afternoon, that I’m in a bit of a quandary.

  ‘There’s this reshuffle on the cards,’ I began.

  He chuckled. I couldn’t see why. Then he apologised. ‘I’m so sorry, Minister, I thought you were making a… do go on.’

  ‘To complicate matters, and I tell you this in complete confidence, Bernard, I’ve been approached about becoming one of Britain’s EEC Commissioners in Brussels.’

  ‘How very nice,’ said Bernard. ‘It’s always a help to have an ace up one’s sleeve in a shuffle.’

  ‘But is it nice?’ I seized upon his reply. ‘That’s my dilemma.’ He said nothing. I asked him if he really thought that, as Minister at the DAA, I’d done all right.

  I suppose I was hoping for high praise. ‘Superbly’ would have been a nice answer. As it was, Bernard nodded and said, ‘Yes, you’ve done all right.’

  It seems that no one is prepared to commit themselves further than that on the subject of my performance. It really is rather discouraging. And it’s not my fault I’ve not been a glittering success, Humphrey has blocked me on so many issues, he’s never really been on my side. ‘Look, let’s be honest,’ I said to Bernard. ‘All right isn’t good enough, is it?’

  ‘Well… it’s all right,’ he replied carefully.

  So I asked him if he’d heard any rumours on the grapevine. About me.

  He replied, ‘Nothing, really.’ And then he added: ‘Only that the British Commissioner in Europe sent a telegram to the FCO [Foreign and Commonwealth Office — Ed.] and to the Cabinet Committee on Europe, that the idea for you to be a Commissioner came from Brussels but that it is — at the end of the day — a Prime Ministerial appointment. The Prime Minister has in fact discussed it extensively with the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs and the Secretary to the Cabinet, and cleared the way for you to be sounded out on the subject. As it is believed at Number Ten that you might well accept such an honour, a colleague of yours has been sounded out about becoming our Minister here at the DAA.’ He paused, then added apologetically, ‘I’m afraid that’s all I know.’

  ‘No more than that?’ I asked with heavy irony.

  I then asked which colleague had been sounded out to replace me at the DAA. Bernard didn’t know.

  But I was really getting nowhere with my basic problem. Which is, if I don’t go to Europe will I be pushed up, or down — or out!

  July 15th

  Rumours suggest that the reshuffle is imminent. The papers are full of it. Still no mention of me, which means the lobby correspondents have been told nothing one way or the other.

  It’s all very nerve-racking. I’m quite unable to think about any of my ministerial duties. I’m becoming obsessed with my future — or lack of it. And I must decide soon whether to accept or decline Europe.

  I had a meeting with Sir Humphrey today. It was supposed to be on the subject of the Word Processing Conference in Brussels.

  I opened it up by telling Humphr
ey that I’d changed my mind. ‘I’ve decided to go to Brussels,’ I said. I meant go and have a look, as I’d arranged with Annie. But Humphrey misunderstood me.

  ‘You’re not resigning from the Department of Administrative Affairs?’ he asked. He seemed shocked. I was rather pleased. Perhaps he has a higher opinion of me than I realised.

  I put him out of his misery. ‘Certainly not. I’m talking about this Word Processing Conference.’

  He visibly relaxed. Then I added, ‘But I would like to see Brussels for myself.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked him.

  ‘Why not indeed?’ he asked me. ‘But why?’

  I told him I was curious. He agreed.

  Then I told him, preparing the ground for my possible permanent departure across the Channel, that I felt on reflection that I’d been a bit hasty in my criticisms of Brussels and that I’d found Humphrey’s defence of it thoroughly convincing.

  This didn’t please him as much as I’d expected. He told me that he had been reflecting on my views, that he had found much truth and wisdom in my criticism of Brussels. (Was this Humphrey speaking? I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.)

  ‘You implied it was corrupt, and indeed you have opened my eyes,’ he said.

  ‘No, no, no,’ I said hastily.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he replied firmly.

  I couldn’t allow Humphrey to think that I’d said it was corrupt. I had said it, actually, but now I’m not so sure. [We are not sure whether Hacker was not sure that he wanted to be quoted or not sure that Brussels was corrupt — Ed.] I told Humphrey that he had persuaded me. I can now see, quite clearly, that Brussels is full of dedicated men carrying a heavy burden of travel and entertainment — they need all that luxury and the odd drinkie.

  ‘Champagne and caviar?’ enquired Sir Humphrey. ‘Private planes, air-conditioned Mercedes?’

  I reminded Humphrey that these little luxuries oil the diplomatic wheels.

  ‘Snouts in the trough,’ remarked Humphrey, to no one in particular.

  I reproved him. ‘That is not an attractive phrase,’ I said coldly.

  ‘I’m so sorry’, he said. ‘I can’t think where I picked it up.’

  I drew the discussion to a close by stating that we would all go to Brussels next week to attend this conference, as he had originally requested.

  As he got up to leave, Humphrey asked me if my change of heart about Brussels was entirely the result of his arguments.

  Naturally, I told him yes.

  He didn’t believe me. ‘It wouldn’t be anything to do with rumours of your being offered a post in Brussels?’

  I couldn’t let him know that he was right. ‘The thought is not worthy of you, Humphrey,’ I said. And, thinking of Annie and trying not to laugh, I added solemnly: ‘There is such a thing as integrity.’

  Humphrey looked confused.

  [Later that day Sir Humphrey had lunch with Sir Arnold Robinson, Secretary to the Cabinet, at their club. He made the following note in his private diary — Ed.]

  I told Arnold that I was most concerned about letting Corbett loose on the DAA. I would regard it as a disaster of the utmost magnitude.

  Arnold said that he was unable to stop the move. The Prime Minister appoints the Cabinet. I refused to accept this explanation — we all know perfectly well that the Cabinet Secretary arranges reshuffles. I said as much.

  Arnold acknowledged this fact but insisted that, if the PM is really set on making a particular appointment, the Cabinet Secretary must reluctantly acquiesce.

  I remain convinced that Arnold keeps a hand on the tiller.

  [The matter rested there until Sir Humphrey Appleby received a memo from Sir Arnold Robinson, see below — Ed.]

  A memo from Sir Arnold Robinson to Sir Humphrey Appleby:

  A reply from Sir Humphrey Appleby:

  A reply from Sir Arnold:

  A reply from Sir Humphrey:

  A reply from Sir Arnold:

  July 22nd

  I was still paralysed with indecision as today began.

  At my morning meeting with Humphrey I asked if he had any news. He denied it. I know he had lunch with the Cabinet Secretary one day last week — is it conceivable that Arnold Robinson told him nothing?

  ‘You must know something?’ I said firmly.

  Slight pause.

  ‘All I know, Minister, is that the reshuffle will definitely be announced on Monday. Have you any news?’

  I couldn’t think what he meant.

  ‘Of Brussels,’ he added. ‘Are you accepting the Commissionership?’

  I tried to explain my ambivalence. ‘Speaking with my Parliamentary hat on, I think it would be a bad idea. On the other hand, with my Cabinet hat on, I can see that it might be quite a good idea. But there again, with my European hat on, I can see that there are arguments on both sides.’

  I couldn’t believe the rubbish I could hear myself talking. Humphrey and Bernard might well have wondered which hat I was talking through at the moment.

  They simply gazed at me, silent and baffled.

  Humphrey then sought elucidation.

  ‘Minister, does that mean you have decided you want to go to Brussels?’

  ‘Well…’ I replied, ‘yes and no.’

  I found that I was enjoying myself for the first time for days.

  Humphrey tried to help me clarify my mind.

  He asked me to list the pros and cons.

  This threw me into instant confusion again. I told him I didn’t really know what I think, thought, because — and I don’t know if I’d mentioned this to Humphrey before, I think I might have — it all rather depends on whether or not I’ve done all right. So I asked Humphrey how he thought I’d done.

  Humphrey said he thought I’d done all right.

  So I was no further on. I’m going round and round in circles. If I’ve done all right, I mean really all right, then I’ll stay because I’ll be all right. But if I’ve only done all right, I mean only just all right, then I think to stay here wouldn’t be right — it would be wrong, right?

  Humphrey then appeared to make a positive suggestion. ‘Minister,’ he volunteered, ‘I think that, to be on the safe side, you need a big personal success.’

  Great, I thought! Yes indeed.

  ‘A triumph, in fact,’ said Humphrey.

  ‘Like what?’ I asked.

  ‘I mean,’ said Humphrey, ‘some great personal publicity for a great personal and political achievement.’

  I was getting rather excited. I waited expectantly. But suddenly Humphrey fell silent.

  ‘Well…’ I repeated, ‘what have you in mind?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to think of something.’

  That was a great help!

  I asked what the purpose would be of this hypothetical triumph. He told me that Sir Arnold indicated that the PM would be unable to move me downwards if I had a triumph before the reshuffle.

  That’s obvious. What’s even more worrying is the implication that there was no possibility of the PM moving me upwards.

  I mentioned this. Humphrey replied that, alas! one must be a realist. I don’t think he realised just how insulting he was being.

  I told Humphrey I’d take Brussels, and brought the meeting to a close. I decided I’d call Brussels tonight and accept the post, and thus avoid the humiliation of being demoted in the Cabinet by pre-empting the PM.

  I told Humphrey he could go, and instructed Bernard to bring me details of the European Word Processing standardisation plans, to which I would now be fully committed.

  Then Humphrey had an idea.

  He stood up, excitedly.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, ‘I have an idea. Supposing you were to ignore the EEC and publish your own plan for word-processing equipment, and place huge contracts with British manufacturers, immediately, today, tomorrow, well before Monday, thus ensuring more jobs in Britain, more investment, more e
xport orders…’

  He looked at me.

  I tried to readjust my thoughts. Weren’t we back at square one? This is what I’d been about to do before we got the directive from Brussels a couple of weeks ago. And Humphrey had told me that we had to comply with a Brussels directive.

  ‘It’s not a directive,’ he now explained. ‘It hasn’t been ratified by the Conference. It’s a request.’

  I wondered, aloud, if we could really stab our partners in the back, and spit in their faces.

  Bernard intervened. ‘You can’t stab anyone in the back while you spit in their face.’ I suppose he was trying to be helpful.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realised that Humphrey’s scheme had a touch of real genius about it. Defying Brussels would be very popular in the country. It would be a big story. And it would prove that I had elbows.

  I told Humphrey that it was a good idea.

  ‘You’ll do it?’ he asked.

  I didn’t want to be rushed. ‘Let me think about it,’ I said. ‘After all, it would mean giving up…’ I didn’t know how to put it.

  ‘The trough?’ he offered.

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ I replied coldly, though actually it was what I meant.

  He knew it was anyway, because he said: ‘When it comes to it, Minister, one must put one’s country first.’

  On the whole, I suppose I agree with that.

  July 23rd

  My repudiation of the EEC request had indeed proved to be a big story. A triumph, in fact. Especially as I accompanied it with a rather jingoistic anti-Brussels speech. The popular press loved it, but I’m afraid that I’ve irrevocably burned my boats — I don’t think I’ll be offered a Commissionership again in a hurry.

  Let’s hope it does the trick.

  July 26th

  The reshuffle was announced today. Fred was indeed kicked upstairs, Basil Corbett went to Employment, and I stayed where I am — at the DAA.

  Humphrey popped in first thing, and told me how delighted he was that I was staying.

  ‘I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but I personally would have been deeply sorry to lose you.’ He told me that he meant it most sincerely.