The Complete Yes Minister (75 page)

It was at this critical juncture that Sir Humphrey burst into Cartwright’s office. I believe that his arrival in Cartwright’s office at that moment was no coincidence.

We had a pretty stilted conversation.

‘Oh, Minister! Good Heavens!’

‘Oh. Hello Humphrey!’

‘Hello Minister.’

‘What a coincidence.’

‘Yes. Indeed. What a surprise.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes.’

For some reason he was making me feel guilty, and I found myself trying to explain my presence there.

‘I was just, er, passing.’

‘Passing?’

‘Yes. Passing.’

‘Passing. I see.’ He considered my explanation for a moment. ‘Where were you going?’

I was trapped. I had no idea what else was on Cartwright’s floor. I decided to be vague.

‘Oh,’ I said airily, ‘I was just going . . . past.’ I said it as if ‘past were a specific place to go. ‘Past the door,’ I added. I was aware that I sounded fearfully unconvincing but I blundered on. ‘Cartwright’s – Richard’s door. Dick’s door. So I thought “hello”!’

‘And then did you think anything further?’ He is relentless.

‘Yes. I thought, why should I just pass the door? I might as well . . . open it.’

‘Good thinking, Minister. That’s what doors are for.’

‘Quite.’ I summoned up my courage and finally got to the point. ‘And I’d remembered one or two points I wanted to clear up.’

‘Good. What points?’

I couldn’t see why I should tell him. Or why I shouldn’t be in Cartwright’s office. Or why he was successfully making me feel guilty? Or why he should consider that he had the right to approve everything that the DAA staff say to me. He behaves as though they are his staff, not mine. [
They were – Ed
.]

But I also couldn’t see how not to answer him.

‘Oh, just some odd points,’ I replied finally, making a suitably vague gesture.

He waited. Silence. Then he repeated it. ‘Just some odd points.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘How odd?’ he asked.

‘Well it’s not all
that
odd,’ I said, argumentatively, wilfully misunderstanding him. ‘We had a meeting yesterday, didn’t we?’

Sir Humphrey was now tired of the fencing.

‘Minister, may I have a word with you?’

‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘as soon as Richard and I have . . .’

He interrupted. ‘I mean now.’

Now it was my turn to embarrass him a little. ‘Okay. Go ahead.’ I knew he wouldn’t want to talk in front of one of his juniors.

‘Upstairs, Minister, in your office if you please.’

‘But I’m sure Richard doesn’t mind.’

‘Upstairs, Minister. I’m sure Dr Cartwright can spare you for a few moments.’

Cartwright missed the heavy sarcasm completely. ‘Oh yes,’ he said with an obliging smile.

Sir Humphrey opened the door. Having been made to feel like a naughty schoolboy, I marched out of Cartwright’s office.

I wonder how he knew I was in that office. I know Bernard wouldn’t have told him, so somebody must have seen me and reported it. I might as well be in the Soviet Union. Somehow I’ve got to get my freedom – but that involves winning the psychological war against Humphrey. And somehow, he always manages to make me feel guilty and unsure of myself.

If only I could find a chink in his armour. If I ever do, he’s
had
it!

Anyway, that tense little sparring match in Cartwright’s office wasn’t the end of the matter. A few minutes later, back in my office after an icy silent journey up in the lift and along the endless corridors, the row came to a head.

He told me that I cannot just go around talking to people in the Department, and expressed the sincere hope that such a thing would not occur again.

I could scarcely believe my ears. I ordered him to explain himself.

‘Minister, how can I advise you properly if I don’t know who’s saying what to whom? I must know what’s going on. You simply cannot have completely private meetings. And what if you’re told things that aren’t true?’

‘If they’re not true you can put me right.’

‘But they may be true.’

‘In
that
case . . .’ I began triumphantly. He interrupted me, correcting himself hastily.

‘That is, not
entirely
false. But misleading. Open to misinterpretation.’

I faced him with a straight question. ‘The fact is, you’re just trying to keep things from me, aren’t you, Humphrey?’

He was indignant. ‘Absolutely not, Minister. Records must be kept. You won’t be here forever, nor will we. In years to come it may be vital to know what you were told. If Cartwright were moved tomorrow, how could we check on your information?’

On the face of it, that was a specious argument. ‘Cartwright
isn’t
being moved tomorrow,’ I said.

‘Oh, isn’t he?’ came the insolent response.

Bernard interrupted us. Alex Andrews of
The Mail
wanted to do an interview with me for tomorrow. I agreed of course. I told Bernard to stay with us and minute our conversation. Humphrey had given me
his
views on my private meeting with Cartwright. Now he was going to hear
mine
.

I began by repeating what Cartwright had told me: namely, that in his opinion – and the opinion of everyone who knows anything about local government – the South-West Derbyshire County Council is the most efficient in the country.

‘Inefficient, I think he means, Minister.’

‘Efficient, Humphrey. Effective. Economical. They’re just not particularly interested in sending pieces of blue paper to Whitehall.’

Humphrey then explained something that I hadn’t quite grasped yet. Apparently they
have
to return those sodding blue forms, it’s a statutory requirement.

And we know why. We know who decreed that it should be so.

Even so, statutory requirements can be overlooked occasionally. Discretion can be exercised. So I asked Humphrey what happens if they don’t send in their blue forms. South-West Derbyshire carries on, rather well apparently.

‘But,’ said Humphrey, not seeing at all what I was getting at, ‘if they don’t send us the information and plans and requests for permission, well, what are we here for?’

An excellent question, as I told him immediately. I asked it at once. ‘What
are
we here for?’

‘To collate the information, inspect the plans, and grant or withhold permission.’

‘And if we didn’t?’ I asked.

He gazed at me studiously. I might have been talking Ancient Chinese, for all the sense I was making to him.

‘I’m sorry, Minister, I don’t understand.’

I persevered. ‘If we didn’t. If we weren’t here and we didn’t do it – then what?’

‘I’m sorry, Minister, you’ve lost me.’

Yet again, Humphrey demonstrates that his trouble is that he is concerned with means and not ends.

[
Many civil servants of the time deflected criticisms about ends and means by stating flippantly that the only ends in administration are loose ends. If administration is viewed in a vacuum this is, of course, true. Administration can have no end in itself, and is eternal. For ever and ever, amen – Ed
.]

[
Hacker’s diary continues – Ed
.]

The upshot of the whole argument was that I refused to discipline the most efficient local authority in Britain, on the grounds that I would look like an idiot if I did.

Sir Humphrey told me that was my job. I
think
he meant to discipline South-West Derbyshire, rather than to look like an idiot, but I’m not certain. He said that I had no alternative to consider, no discretion to exercise, and that the Treasury and the Cabinet Office insist.

[
By Cabinet Office Sir Humphrey clearly meant the Cabinet Secretary rather than the PM. But he could never have said so – the fiction had to be preserved that Britain was governed by Ministers who told civil servants what to do, not vice versa – Ed
.]

I still refused to co-operate.

‘Minister. You don’t seem to understand. It’s not up to you or me. It’s the law.’

And there we left it. I felt a bit like a dog refusing to go for a walk – sitting down and digging in my paws while being dragged along the pavement on my bottom.

But there must be some way out. The more I think of it, the less willing I am to discipline that council until there is
really
no alternative.

And the more I think of it, the more I conclude that Bernard must have told Humphrey that I’d gone to talk to Cartwright.

I had no free time to talk to Bernard on his own yesterday.

But first thing this morning, while I was doing my letters, I had a serious word with Bernard. I asked him how Humphrey had found out yesterday that I was with Cartwright.

‘God moves in a mysterious way,’ he said earnestly.

‘Let me make one thing quite clear,’ I said, ‘Sir Humphrey is not God. Okay?’

Bernard nodded. ‘Will you tell him, or shall I?’ he replied.

Very droll. But again I asked him how Humphrey knew where to find me.

I am fortunate that my dictaphone had been left running. I noticed it some minutes later. As a result I am able to record his reply for posterity in this diary.

‘Confidentially, Minister, everything you tell me is in complete confidence. So, equally, and I’m sure you appreciate this, and by appreciate I don’t actually mean appreciate, I mean understand, that everything that Sir Humphrey tells me is in complete confidence. As indeed everything I tell you is in complete confidence. And for that matter, everything I tell Sir Humphrey is in complete confidence.’

‘So?’ I said.

‘So, in complete confidence, I am confident you will understand that for me to keep Sir Humphrey’s confidence and your confidence means that my conversations must be completely confidential. As confidential as conversations between you and me are confidential, and I’ll just get Alex Andrews as he’s been waiting to see you, Minister.’

There it is. Word for word. What was I supposed to make of that? Nothing, of course.

My meeting with Alex Andrews of
The Mail
was today. I’d been very keen to fit him in at the earliest opportunity. I’d been hoping for a Profile, or something of that sort, but no such luck. Still, I’ve done him a good turn today, it’s no skin off my nose, and perhaps he’ll do the same for me one day.

He asked for my help in a fascinating story that he had just come across. ‘Did you know that your government is about to give away forty million pounds’ worth of buildings, harbour installations, a landing-strip, to a private developer? For nothing?’

I thought he was having me on. ‘Forty million pounds?’

‘Scout’s Honour.’

‘Why ask me?’ I said. Suddenly I had a dreadful moment of panic. ‘I didn’t do it, did I?’

[
You may think that Hacker should have known if he had done it. But a great many things are done in a Minister’s name, of which he may have little or no awareness – Ed
.]

Alex smiled, and told me to relax. Thank God!

Then he told me the story. It goes back a long way. Almost thirty years ago the Ministry of Defence took a lease on a Scottish island. They put up barracks, married quarters, an HQ block, and the harbour and airstrip. Now the lease has expired and they all become the property of the original landowner. And he is turning it into an instant holiday camp. Chalets, yachting marina, staff quarters – it’s all there. He is going to make a fortune.

I listened, open-mouthed. ‘But he can’t do that!’ I began. ‘The law says that . . .’

Andrews interrupted me. ‘You’re talking about English law. This contract was under Scottish law and some idiot didn’t realise the difference.’

I was relieved that at least I am in the clear. Even
The Mail
can’t blame me for a cock-up in the early fifties. Though I’m sure they would if they could. And I couldn’t at first see what he wanted from me. He already had the story. Thirty years late, as quick with the news as ever – still, not bad for Fleet Street!

They are running the story tomorrow. But apparently they don’t want to leave it at that. The Editor wants Alex to follow up with an investigative feature. He wants him to go through the files, and find out exactly how it happened.

I couldn’t see the point, not now.

‘Well,’ he explained, ‘there may be lessons for today. And we might find who was responsible.’

I asked why it would matter? It would, in any case, have been handled by quite a junior official.

He nodded. ‘Okay, but that was thirty years ago. He could be in a very senior position now, even a Permanent Secretary, running a great department, responsible for spending billions of pounds of public money.’

A very unlikely eventuality, in my opinion. These hacks will do anything to try and find a story where there isn’t one.

He agreed it was pretty unlikely. But he asked to see the papers.

Naturally I had to be a bit cautious about that. I can’t just hand files over, as he well knows. But I advised him that, as it was a thirty-year lease that was in question, he would be able to get the papers from the Public Record Office under the Thirty-Year Rule.

He was unimpressed. ‘I thought you’d say that. I’ve asked for them already. But I want a guarantee that I
will
get them. All of them.’

I hate being asked to guarantee anything. I don’t really think it’s fair. And anyway, was I in a position to? ‘Well,’ I said, carefully feeling my way, ‘Defence papers are sometimes . . .’

He interrupted me. ‘Don’t come that one. It’s not top security. Look, you made a manifesto commitment about telling voters the facts. This is a test case. Will you guarantee that no papers are removed before the files are opened?’