‘It was not urgent,’ he explained to me later, ‘but it was important. Any document that removes the power of decision from Ministers and gives it to us is important.’
I asked why. He rightly ticked me off for obtuseness. Giving powers of decision to the Service helps to take government out of politics. That was, in his view, Britain’s only hope of survival.
The urgency was true in one sense, of course, in that whenever you want a Minister to sign something without too many questions it is always better to wait until he is in a hurry. That is when their concentration is weakest. Ministers are always vulnerable when they are in a hurry.
That is why we always kept them on the go, of course.
[Hacker’s diary for that day continues — Ed.]
It’s always hard to find something to make a speech about. We have to make a great many speeches, of course — local authority elections, by-elections, GLC elections, opening village fetes or the new old people’s home, every weekend in my constituency there’s something.
We must try to have something to say. Yet it can’t be particularly new or else we’d have to say it in the House first, and it can’t be particularly interesting or we’d already have said it on TV or radio. I’m always hoping that the Department will cook up something for me to talk about, something that we in the government would have to be talking about anyway.
Equally, you have to be careful that, in their eagerness to find something, they don’t cook up anything too damn silly. After all, I’ve got to actually get up and say it.
Most civil servants can’t write speeches. But they can dig up a plum for me (occasionally) and, without fail, they should warn me of any possible banana skins.
Today I planned to make a sort of generalised speech on the environment, which I’m doing a lot of recently and which seems to go down well with everyone.
Hacker was persuaded to pose for the above photograph against his better jugement, because he was unwilling to appear ‘a bad sport’ in public. He subsequently had the photograph suppressed but it was released under the Thirty-year Rule (DAA Archives)
At the City Farm we were met by a brisk middle-class lady called Mrs Phillips. She was the Warden of the City Farm. My party simply consisted of me, Bill Pritchard of the press office, and Bernard.
We were asked to drive up to the place two or three times in succession, so that the television crew could film us arriving.
The third time seemed to satisfy them. Mrs Phillips welcomed me with a singularly tactless little speech: words to the effect of ‘I’m so grateful that you could come, we tried all sorts of other celebrities but nobody else could make it.’
I turned to the cameraman from the BBC and told him to cut. He kept filming, impertinent little man. I told him again, and then the director said cut so he finally did cut. I instructed the director to cut Mrs Phillips’ tactless little speech right out.
‘But…’ he began.
‘No buts,’ I told him. ‘Licence fee, remember.’ Of course I said it jokingly, but we both knew I wasn’t joking. The BBC is always much easier to handle when the licence fee is coming up for renewal.
I think he was rather impressed with my professionalism and my no-nonsense attitude.
We went in.
I realised that I didn’t know too much about City Farms. Furthermore, people always like to talk about themselves and their work, so I said to Mrs Phillips — who had a piglet in her arms by this time — ‘Tell me all about this.’
‘This is a piglet,’ she replied. Asinine woman. Or perhaps I should say piginine.[34]
I told her to tell me about the farm. She said that there are over fifty such City Farms, built on urban wasteland to give children who seldom see the countryside a chance to understand livestock and food production. A wonderful idea.
I was photographed with Mrs Phillips, meeting the staff, with the children and with the piglets. [Everybody’s a ham — Ed.] Then it was time for my speech.
There was a moment of slight embarrassment when I realised Bernard had given me the wrong speech, but that was soon overcome.
SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:[35]
Slight embarrassment does not begin to describe the general reaction to Hacker’s speech.
There was confusion over who had the copy of his speech, I or he. I distinctly remembered giving it to him. He denied it, and demanded I look in my briefcase. There was indeed a speech for him there. And he grabbed it and read it.
[The speech has been found in the DAA archives, and we reprint it below — Ed.]
Yes, indeed, Hacker had insisted on reading the speech that we had put into my briefcase after his address to the Architectural Association on the issue of high-rise buildings.
There was an embarrassed pause, while I whispered to him that he had today’s speech. He felt in his inside pocket, found the City Farm speech, and began to read.
Unfortunately, this only increased the already considerable embarrassment.
[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]
After my speech I was interviewed by Sue Lawley for Nationwide, surrounded by kids and animals as previously arranged with Bill.
While they were positioning everyone for the cameras, Mrs Phillips asked me if she could really rely on my support. I told her that of course she could. She then explained that their lease was running out at the end of the year, and they needed to get it extended.
I couldn’t involve myself too directly. I had gone there to get some personal publicity, and I’m not fully acquainted with all their circumstances. So I pointed out that this lease was not really within my sphere of influence, but that I would do what I could to help the City Farm movement flourish. This I was careful to state only in the most general terms.
Then the interview began, just as a very grubby smelly child of indeterminate sex with a sticky lollipop in its mouth was placed on my knee. I tried to show pleasure instead of disgust — which I fear would have been my natural expression.
Sue Lawley asked Mrs Phillips the first question. ‘Warden, I understand that the lease on this wonderful City Farm is due to run out at the end of the year.’
I could scarcely believe my ears as I heard Mrs Phillips reply: ‘Yes, we have been very worried about this, but I’ve just had a word with the Minister, Mr Hacker, and he has indicated that he will make sure that the farm can carry on.’
I was startled and horrified, more so when Sue Lawley turned to me and asked how I was going to ensure the continuance of the City Farm.
I started out to qualify what Mrs Phillips had said, with the usual temporising phrases like ‘let’s be absolutely clear about this’ and ‘at the end of the day’ and so forth, but somehow felt unable to deny what she’d said while the cameras were rolling. Instead, I heard myself saying, ‘the quality of life is becoming more and more important. The environment, conservation, the problems of pollution, the future of our children and our children’s children, these are today’s issues.’
[We have discovered the following series of memos that were exchanged, over the following few days, between Sir Frank Gordon, Second Permanent Secretary at the Treasury, and Sir Humphrey Appleby, see below — Ed.]
A note from Sir Frank Gordon, Second Permanent Secretary of the Treasury:
A reply from Sir Humphrey Appleby:
A reply from Sir Frank:
A reply from Sir Humphrey:
A reply from Sir Frank:
A reply from Sir Humphrey:
We also discovered a brief note to Sir Desmond Glazebrook, addressed to his home at Cadogan Square:
[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]
September 20th
For some reason they didn’t run the story of my visit to the City Farm in the Standard last week.
But today I got a double-page spread. Wonderful. One photo of me with a duck, another with a small multiracial girl. Great publicity for me, and the Department.
I was busy discussing the possibilities of visiting other Cit
y Farms — in Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow, Newcastle. Preferably in the Special Development Areas. [The new euphemism for marginal constituencies — Ed.]
This happy conversation was rudely interrupted by Bernard announcing that the wretched Mrs Phillips was outside in the Private Office, demanding to see me.
I couldn’t see why. Then Bernard told me that it was announced this morning that the City Farm is being closed. This was a bombshell.
‘The lease runs out at the end of the year and it’s being turned into a car park,’ Bernard told me. ‘For Inland Revenue Inspectors.’
Bill and I both knew what the headlines would be. CHILDREN AND ANIMALS EVICTED BY TAXMEN. HACKER RENEGES ON TV PLEDGE. That sort of thing.
I told Bernard that it simply couldn’t be allowed to happen. ‘Which idiot authorised it?’ I asked.
He stared unhappily at his shoes. ‘I’m afraid, er, you did, Minister.’
It seems that the administrative order that I signed a couple of days ago, which Humphrey said was so urgent, gives government departments the power to take over local authority land. It’s known as Section 7, subsection 3 in Whitehall.
I sent for Humphrey. I told Bernard to get him at once, pointing out that this is about the worst disaster of the century.
‘There were two World Wars, Minister,’ said Bernard as he picked up the phone. I simply told him to shut up, I was in no mood for smartarse insubordination.
‘Fighting on the beaches is one thing,’ I snarled. ‘Evicting cuddly animals and small children to make room for tax inspectors’ cars is in a different league of awfulness.’
Humphrey arrived and started to congratulate me on my television appearance. What kind of a fool does he think I am? I brushed this nonsense aside and demanded an explanation.
‘Ah yes,’ he said smoothly. ‘The Treasury, acting under Section 7, subsection 3 of the Environmental…’
‘It’s got to be stopped,’ I interrupted brusquely.
He shook his head, and sighed. ‘Unfortunately, Minister, it is a Treasury decision and not within our jurisdiction.’
I said I’d revoke the order.
‘That, unfortunately,’ he replied, shaking his head gloomily, ‘is impossible. Or very difficult. Or highly inadvisable. Or would require legislation. One of those. But in any case it could not invalidate an action taken while the order was in force.’
As I contemplated this dubious explanation, Mrs Phillips burst in.
She was in full Wagnerian voice. ‘I don’t care if he’s talking to the Queen and the Pope,’ she shouted at some poor Executive Officer outside my door. She strode across the room towards me. ‘Judas,’ was her initial greeting.
‘Steady on,’ I replied firmly.
‘You promised to support us,’ she snarled.
‘Well, yes, I did,’ I was forced to admit.
‘Then you must see that our lease is renewed.’
Sir Humphrey tried to intervene between us. ‘Unfortunately, dear lady, it is not in my Minister’s power to…’
She ignored him and said to me: ‘Mr Hacker, you have given your word. Are you going to keep it?’
Put like that, I was in a bit of a spot. I did my best to blur the issue.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘in that, well, I shall certainly… you know, I didn’t exactly give my word, that is, I shall explore all the avenues, make every effort, do all that is humanly possible —’ Words to that effect.
Mrs Phillips was no fool. ‘You mean no!’ she said.
I was quite honestly stuck for a reply. I said ‘No,’ then that seemed a little unambiguous so I said ‘No, I mean Yes,’ then that seemed dangerous so I added that by no I didn’t mean no, not definitely not, no.
Then — another bombshell! ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she said. ‘My husband is deputy features editor of the Express. Tomorrow morning your name will be manure. You will be roasted alive by the whole of the national press.’
The room fell silent after she swept out and slammed the door. An intense gloom had descended upon the assembled company — or upon me, anyway. Finally, Sir Humphrey found his voice: ‘It falls to few people,’ he said encouragingly, ‘to be within twenty-four hours both St Francis and St Joan.’
I have got to stop this farm being closed. But how? Clearly I’m going to get no help from my Permanent Secretary.
September 21st
No story in the Express today, which was a slight relief. But I couldn’t believe they’ll let it pass.
And when I got to the office there was a message asking me to call that wretched rag.
Also, a message that Sir Desmond wanted to see me urgently. I suggested a meeting next week to Bernard, but it seemed that he was downstairs waiting! Astonishing.
So Bernard let him in. Humphrey appeared as well.
When we were all gathered, Glazebrook said he’d just had an idea. For nine storeys extra on his bank! I was about to boot him out when he explained that if they had nine more storeys the bank could postpone Phase III for seven years. This would leave a site vacant.
‘So?’ I was not getting his drift.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I was reading in the Financial Times a day or two ago about your visit to that City Farm. Thought it was a jolly good wheeze. And, you see, our Phase III site is only two hundred yards away from it, so you could use it to extend the farm. Or if they wanted to move… for any reason… it’s actually a bit bigger… We thought of calling it the James Hacker Cuddly Animal Sanctuary…’ (he and Humphrey exchanged looks) ‘well, Animal Sanctuary anyway, and nine storeys isn’t really very much is it?’
It was clear that they were in cahoots. But it was, unmistakably, a way out. If I gave them permission for a high-rise bank, they’d enable the City Farm to stay open.
It is incredible, I thought, that I should ever have thought that Humphrey would take my side against his old chum Glazebrook. And yet, Glazebrook is not really Humphrey’s type. He must be holding something over Humphrey… I wonder what.
Meanwhile, I had to think up some valid reasons for approving the high-rise building — and quickly. The official application wouldn’t be in for a while but in front of Bernard I felt I had to come up with some face-saving explanations. Fortunately, everyone pitched in.
‘You know, Humphrey,’ I began, ‘I think the government has to be very careful about throttling small businesses.’
Bernard said, ‘The bank’s not actually a small business.’
‘It will be if we throttle it,’ I said firmly, squashing him. He looked puzzled. ‘Bernard,’ I said casually, ‘what’s one more skyscraper when there’s so many already?’
‘Quite so,’ agreed Sir Humphrey.
‘And let’s announce it right away,’ I continued.
So we all agreed that the high-rise building will cut both ways. It will create shade for the school. Extra revenue for the public transport system. And as for privacy — well, it could be fun for people in their gardens to look up and see what’s going on in the offices. Couldn’t it?
‘After all,’ I added meaningfully, ‘some extraordinary things go on in offices, don’t they Humphrey?’
He had the grace to smile. ‘Yes Minister,’ he agreed.
14 A Question of Loyalty
September 27th
I’m due to go to Washington tomorrow for an official visit. I should have thought that it wasn’t strictly necessary for me to be away for a whole week but Sir Humphrey insists that it’s of enormous value if I stay there for an appreciable time so as to get the maximum diplomatic benefit from it all.
I’m to address a conference on administration. One of the Assistant Secretaries, Peter Wilkinson, has written me an excellent speech. It contains phrases like ‘British Government Administration is a model of loyalty, integrity and efficiency. There is a ruthless war on waste. We are cutting bureaucracy to the bone. A lesson that Britain can teach the world.’ Good dynamic stuff.
However, I asked Humphrey yesterday if we
could prove that all of this is true. He replied that a good speech isn’t one where we can prove that we’re telling the truth — it’s one where nobody else can prove we’re lying.
Good thinking!
I hope the speech is fully reported in the London papers.
SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:[36]
I well remember that Sir Humphrey Appleby was extremely keen for Hacker to go off on some official junket somewhere. Anywhere.
He felt that Hacker was beginning to get too much of a grip on the job. This pleased me because it made my job easier, but caused great anxiety to Sir Humphrey.
I was actually rather sorry to have missed the Washington junket, but Sir Humphrey had insisted that Hacker take one of the Assistant Private Secretaries, who needed to be given some experience of responsibility.
When he’d been away for five or six days I was summoned to Sir Humphrey’s office. He asked me how I was enjoying having my Minister out of the office for a week, and I — rather naïvely — remarked that it made things a little difficult.
It was instantly clear that I had blotted my copybook. That afternoon I received a memo in Sir Humphrey’s handwriting, informing me of the benefits of ministerial absence and asking me to commit them to memory.
[Fortunately Sir Bernard kept this memo among his personal papers, and we reproduce it here, written on Sir Humphrey’s margin-shaped notepaper — Ed.]
Bernard
A Minister’s absence is desirable because it enables you to do the job properly.
(i) No silly questions
(ii) No bright ideas
(iii) No fussing about what the papers are saying.
One week’s absence, plus briefing beforehand and debriefing and catching up on the backlog on his return, means that he can be kept out of the Department’s hair for virtually a fortnight
Furthermore, a Minister’s absence is the best cover for not informing the Minister when it is not desirable to do so — and for the next six months, if he complains of not having been informed about something, tell him it came up while he was away
The Complete Yes Minister Page 31