‘Yes it is, since you ask.’
‘Lots of Permanent Secretaries going to be there?’
‘Some, no doubt.’
I waved him away. ‘Off you go, then,’ I said graciously. ‘I don’t want to make you late for your works’ outing.’
He stared at me through narrow little eyes, filled with pure hatred. I smiled back at him.
‘Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it? What’s on tonight, by the way?’
‘The Flying Dutchman.’
‘Ah. Another of our European partners.’
He turned his head and swept out. I’d never enjoyed a meeting so much in my whole life. Bernard, I think, had never enjoyed one less.
[At the Opera that evening Sir Humphrey Appleby had a drink in the Crush Bar with Sir Ian Whitworth, Permanent Secretary of the Department of the Environment. We have found an account of the meeting in Appleby’s private diary — Ed.]
Had a chat with Ian W. over a couple of large G and Ts and those delicious little smoked salmon sandwiches in the Crush Bar.
He’s having problems with one of his Ministers. Not the Secretary of State, who is easily handled, but one of the junior Ministers: Giles Freeman, the Parly Sec.
Discussed the impending planning inquiry into the sale and redevelopment of the Corn Exchange Art Gallery site. Warned him that it was rather important that we get the right result.
Ian reminded me that his planning inspectors are absolutely independent and there can be no question of undue influence. Quite right too.
On the other hand, if it were a question of his giving certain informal guidelines, putting the inquiry in the right perspective and explaining the background to facilitate an informed appreciation of the issues and implications, he agreed that such a course would be regarded as entirely proper.
Then he asked me what it was, exactly, that I wanted him to fix. I explained that it was a question of a proposed local authority demolition of a Grade II listed building. He misunderstood my intentions at first. He said that he would be only too happy to arrange it, there would be no problems: they’d been knocking down listed buildings all over the place.
I explained that the proposal had to be rejected. This amazed him, naturally. And he demanded an explanation. I was forced to reveal that if the sale goes through the proceeds will be used to save the local football club from bankruptcy.
He was visibly shaken. We were unable to continue this conversation as the interval bell went at that moment. Never send to know for whom the bell tolls — it tolls for the Arts Council.
[Appleby Papers JAL/REL 14041]
[The following day Sir Humphrey Appleby received an urgent letter, delivered by hand, from Sir Ian Whitworth, see below — Ed.]
[A reply from Sir Humphrey Appleby — Ed.]
[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]
October 3rd
My usual diary session with Bernard was full of interest this morning. Though I was in a hurry today he insisted on a brief talk with me before we did anything else.
‘There is something I should like to suggest to you, Minister, if I may be so bold.’
I told him to be as bold as he liked.
He told me that, in his opinion, I shouldn’t get involved with the art gallery/football club affair. I told him he was being rather bold.
‘Better for me to be bold than for you to be stumped, Minister.’ I like Bernard. He’s wasted in Whitehall.
He then informed me that it is axiomatic in Whitehall (though news to me, I must say) that an MP should never get involved in a planning inquiry in his own constituency.
Apparently this is because the local issues are usually finely balanced. Therefore you’re bound to offend as many constituents as you please. Either way, you can’t win. The same problem as the integrated national transport policy, in fact. And Bernard emphasised that it becomes especially dangerous to become involved if there’s a powerful quango lurking in the wings.
This sounded all very sensible in theory, and I was grateful for Bernard’s support and care. But in this case I’m not sure that the local arguments are finely balanced. I told Bernard that everyone will be on the same side except for a few wet long-haired scruffy art lovers.
Bernard took this on board, and made no direct reply. He simply suggested that we now went through my diary for the morning. I thought he’d conceded my point until we examined the diary closely.
10.15 a.m.
The Secretary-General of the Arts Council
(The biggest quango of them all)
10.45 a.m.
The Historic Monuments Association
11.00 a.m.
The National Trust
11.15 a.m.
The Country Landowners’ Association
11.30 a.m.
The Council for the Protection of Rural England
11.45 a.m.
The Country Crafts and Folklore Council
I gazed at Bernard, nonplussed.
‘Rural England?’ I asked, picking one of the appointments out at random.
‘Yes,’ said Bernard and made a vague gesture towards the window. ‘There’s quite a lot of it out there.’
‘But why are all these people coming to see me?’
‘The Corn Exchange,’ he explained patiently. ‘It’s the Arts and Architecture mafia.’
‘So who are the Country Crafts and Folklore Council?’
‘The raffia mafia.’ He wasn’t joking it seems. ‘All very influential people. They’ve all come out of the woodwork. There’ll be letters in The Times, hostile articles in the Sundays, you’ll be accused of vandalism. And you can be sure they’ll orchestrate plenty of opposition in your constituency.’
I had a nasty feeling now that he could be right. But I am determined to fight on. This is one I can win.
I admonished Bernard. ‘I didn’t ask you to put any of these people in my diary, Bernard. What were you thinking of?’
‘I was thinking of Sir Humphrey, Minister. He asked me to.’
I told Bernard that I intended to support my excellent scheme, come what may.
The rest of the day was spent in interminable meetings of excruciating boredom listening to all the pressure groups. Tonight I’m feeling absolutely exhausted.
October 4th
Bernard displayed even more ingenuity and tenacity today.
Having taken on board that my art gallery demolition plan is irrevocable, he produced a document for my inspection when I arrived at the office this morning.
He was actually asking me to approve it. He described it as the Local Government Allowances Amendment No. 2 to this year’s regulations. ‘What is it?’ I asked.
He had written me a briefing, summarising the purpose of the document. It’s a Statutory Instrument to be laid before the House. ‘As Minister responsible for local government we need you to authorise that the revised Paragraph 5 of No. 2 Regulations 1971 shall come into operation on the 18th of March next, revoking Regulation 7 of the Local Government Allowances Amendment Regulations 1954 (b).’
I asked him what he meant, as I took the briefing and gazed at it.
So he showed me the explanatory note, which adds that ‘These regulations are to make provision for prescribing the amounts of attendance and financial loss allowances payable to members of local authorities.’
I didn’t pay much attention to Bernard’s summary, because I was mesmerised by the document itself. I’ve kept a copy.
[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]
Isn’t it remarkable that this immortal prose should be described as an ‘explanatory note’?
I finished reading it and looked at Bernard.
‘I think that’s quite clear, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘Do I have to bother with all this piddling gobbledegook?’ I replied.
He was slightly put out. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Minister. I thought that this would be an opportune moment for you to ensure that, as a result of your Ministerial efforts, local counci
llors would be getting more money for attending council meetings.’
I suddenly realised what he was driving at. I glanced back at Bernard’s summary. There it was, in black and white and plain English: ‘Amounts of attendance and financial loss allowances payable to members of local authorities.’ So that’s what it all means!
He had done excellently. This is indeed an opportune moment to display some open-handed generosity towards members of local authorities.
He asked if he could make one further suggestion. ‘Minister, I happen to know that Sir Humphrey and Sir Ian Whitworth have been having discussions on this matter.’
‘Ian Whitworth?’
Bernard nodded. ‘The Corn Exchange is a listed building. So it’s one of his planning inspectors who will be conducting the inquiry. Sir Humphrey and Sir Ian will be laying down some “informal” guidelines for him.’
I was suspicious. Informal guidelines? What did this mean?
Bernard explained carefully. ‘Guidelines are perfectly proper. Everyone has guidelines for their work.’
It didn’t sound perfectly proper to me. ‘I thought planning inspectors were impartial,’ I said.
Bernard chuckled. ‘Oh really Minister! So they are! Railway trains are impartial too. But if you lay down the lines for them, that’s the way they go.’
‘But that’s not fair!’ I cried, regressing forty years.
‘It’s politics, Minister.’
‘But Humphrey’s not supposed to be in politics, he’s supposed to be a civil servant. I’m supposed to be the one in politics.’
Then the whole import of what I’d blurted out came home to me. Bernard was nodding wisely. Clearly he was ready and willing to explain what political moves I had to make. I asked him how Humphrey and Ian would be applying pressure to the planning inspector.
‘Planning inspectors have their own independent hierarchy. The only way they are vulnerable is to find one who is anxious for promotion.’
‘Can a Minister interfere?’
‘Ministers are our Lords and Masters.’
So that was the answer. Giles Freeman, the Parly Sec. at the Department of the Environment, is an old friend of mine. I resolved to explain the situation to Giles and get him to intervene. He could, for instance, arrange to give us a planning inspector who doesn’t care about promotion because he’s nearing retirement. Such a man might even give his verdict in the interests of the community.
All I said to Bernard was: ‘Get me Giles Freeman on the phone.’
And to my astonishment he replied: ‘His Private Secretary says he could meet you in the lobby after the vote this evening.’
I must say I was really impressed. I asked Bernard if he ever thought of going into politics. He shook his head.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, Minister, I once looked up politics in the Thesaurus.’
‘What does it say?’
‘“Manipulation, intrigue, wire-pulling, evasion, rabble-rousing, graft…” I don’t think I have the necessary qualities.’
I told him not to underestimate himself.
[Three days later Sir Humphrey Appleby received another letter from Sir Ian Whitworth — Ed.]
[We can find no written reply to this cry for help. But the following Monday Sir Humphrey and Sir Ian had lunch with Sir Arnold Robinson, the Cabinet Secretary. This account appears in Sir Humphrey’s private diary, and was apparently written in a mood of great triumph — Ed.]
At lunch with Arnold and Ian today I brought off a great coup.
Ian wanted to discuss our planning problem. I had invited Arnold because I knew that he held the key to it.
Having briefed him on the story so far, I changed the subject to discuss the Departmental reorganisation which is due next week. I suggested that Arnold makes Hacker the Cabinet Minister responsible for the Arts.
Arnold objected to that on the grounds that Hacker is a complete philistine. I was surprised at Arnold, missing the point like that. After all, the Industry Secretary is the idlest man in town, the Education Secretary’s illiterate and the Employment Secretary is unemployable.
The point is that Hacker, if he were made Minister responsible for the Arts, could hardly start out in his new job by closing an art gallery.
As for Ian, he was either puzzled or jealous, I’m not sure which. He objected that the reorganisation was not meant to be a Cabinet reshuffle. I explained that I was not suggesting a reshuffle: simply to move Arts and Telecommunications into the purview of the DAA.
There is only one problem or inconsistency in this plan: namely, putting arts and television together. They have nothing to do with each other. They are complete opposites, really.
But Arnold, like Ian, was more concerned with all the power and influence that would be vested in me. He asked me bluntly if we wouldn’t be creating a monster department, reminding me that I also have Administrative Affairs and Local Government.
I replied that Art and local government go rather well together — the art of jiggery-pokery. They smiled at my aphorism and, as neither of them could see any other immediate way of calling Hacker to heel, Arnold agreed to implement my plan.
‘Bit of an artist yourself, aren’t you?’ he said, raising his glass in my direction.
[Appleby Papers NG/NDB/FX GOP]
October 11th
Good news and bad news today. Good on balance. But there were a few little crises to be resolved.
I was due to have a meeting with my local committee about the Aston Wanderers/Art Gallery situation.
But Humphrey arrived unexpectedly and demanded an urgent word with me. I told him firmly that my mind was made up. Well, it was — at that stage!
‘Even so, Minister, you might be interested in a new development. The government reshuffle.’
This was the first I’d heard of a reshuffle. A couple of weeks ago he’d said it would be just a reorganisation.
‘Not just a reorganisation, Minister. A reorganisation. And I’m delighted to say it has brought you new honour and importance. In addition to your existing responsibilities, you are also to be the Cabinet Minister responsible for the Arts.’
This was good news indeed. I was surprised that he’d been told before I had been, but it seems he was with the Cabinet Secretary shortly after the decision was taken.
I thanked him for the news, suggested a little drinkie later to celebrate, and then told him that I was about to start a meeting.
‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘I hope you have considered the implications of your new responsibilities on the project you are discussing.’
I couldn’t at first see what rescuing a football club had to do with my new responsibilities. And then the penny dropped! How on earth would it look if the first action of the Minister for the Arts was to knock down an art gallery?
I told Bernard to apologise to the Councillors, and to say that I was delayed or something. I needed time to think!
So Humphrey and I discussed the art gallery. I told him that I’d been giving it some thought, that it was quite a decent little gallery, an interesting building, Grade II listed, and that clearly it was now my role to fight for it.
He nodded sympathetically, and agreed that I was in a bit of a fix. Bernard ushered in the Councillors — Brian Wilkinson leading the delegation, plus a couple of others — Cllrs Noble and Greensmith.
I had no idea, quite honestly, what I was going to say to them. I ordered Humphrey to stay with me, to help.
‘This is my Permanent Secretary,’ I said.
Brian Wilkinson indicated Bernard. ‘You mean he’s only a temp?’ Bernard didn’t look at all pleased. I couldn’t tell if Brian was sending him up or not.
I was about to start the meeting with a few cautious opening remarks when Brian plunged in. He told me, with great enthusiasm, that it was all going great. All the political parties are with the plan. The County Council too. It was now unstoppable. All he needed was my Department’s approval for using the proceeds from the sale
of the art gallery as a loan to the club.
I hesitated. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Well — um… there is a snag.’
Wilkinson was surprised. ‘You said there weren’t any.’
‘Well, there is.’ I couldn’t elaborate on this terse comment because I just couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
My mind was blank. I was absolutely stuck. I said things like ‘apparently… it seems… it has emerged,’ and then I passed the buck, ‘I think Sir Humphrey can explain it better,’ I said desperately.
All eyes turned to Sir Humphrey.
‘Um… well. It just can’t be done, you see,’ he said. It looked for a dreadful moment that he was going to leave it at that — but then, thank God, inspiration struck. ‘It’s because the art gallery is a trust. Terms of the original bequest. Or something,’ he finished lamely.
I picked up the ball and carried on running with it, blindly. ‘That’s it,’ I agreed emphatically, ‘a trust. We’ll just have to find something else to knock down. A school. A church. A hospital. Bound to be something,’ I added optimistically.
Councillor Brian Wilkinson’s jaw had dropped. ‘Are we supposed to tell people that you’ve gone back on your word? It was your idea to start with.’
‘It’s the law,’ I whined, ‘not me.’
‘Well, why didn’t you find this out till now?’
I had no answer. I didn’t know what to say. I broke out in a cold sweat. I could see that this could cost me my seat at the next election. And then dear Bernard came to the rescue.
He was surreptitiously pointing at a file on my desk. I glanced at it — and realised that it was the gobbledegook amending Regulation 7 of the Amendment of Regulations Act regulating the Regulation of the Amendments Act, 1066 and all that.
But what was it all about? Cash for Councillors? Of course!
My confidence surged back. I smiled at Brian Wilkinson and said, ‘Let me be absolutely frank with you. The truth of the matter is, I might be able to get our scheme through. But it would take a lot of time.’
Wilkinson interrupted me impatiently. ‘Okay, take the time. We’ve spent enough.’
‘Yes,’ I replied smoothly, ‘but then something else would have to go by the board. And the other thing that’s taking my time at the moment is forcing through this increase in Councillors’ expenses and allowances. I can’t put my personal weight behind both schemes.’
The Complete Yes Minister Page 49