The Complete Yes Minister

15 Equal Opportunities

October 23rd

Today was a fairly quiet Saturday afternoon in the constituency. The end of our first year and I was feeling that I’ve done pretty well, one way or another: no great cock-ups after my first-ever year in office (or at least, none which we haven’t survived somehow) and I have a sense that I am beginning to understand the administrative machine at last.

You may think that a year is rather too long a period in which to achieve an understanding of the one department of which I am the titular head. In political terms, of course, that’s true. Nonetheless if, had I become Chairman of ICI after a lifetime as a journalist and polytechnic lecturer and with no previous experience of running a major industry, I had a thorough understanding of how it all worked after only one year, I would be considered a great success.

We politicians blunder into Whitehall like babes in the wood. So few of us have ever run anything before, other than a medical practice, a law firm, or a political journal — and suddenly we find ourselves the head of a ministry with between twenty thousand and a hundred thousand employees.

All in all, I think we do pretty well! [It was in this bullish mood that Hacker had agreed that day to give an interview to Cathy Webb, a fourth-former in one of the comprehensive schools in Hacker’s constituency[38] — Ed.]

However, my enthusiastic feelings about my first year in office were, I must admit, a little shaken after I was interviewed at teatime by a precocious schoolgirl for the school magazine.

She began by asking me how I had reached my present eminent position. I summarised my political career so far, culminating, I said, with carefully calculated modesty, ‘with the moment when the Prime Minister saw fit, for whatever reason, to invite one to join the Cabinet and, well, here one is.’ I didn’t want to seem conceited. In my experience the young have a nose for that sort of thing.

She asked me if it isn’t a terrific responsibility. I explained to her that if one chooses, as I have chosen, to dedicate one’s life to public service, the service of others, then responsibility is one of those things one has to accept.

Cathy was full of admiration, I could see it in her eyes. ‘But all that power…’ she murmured.

‘I know, I know,’ I replied, attempting the casual air of a man who is used to it. ‘Frightening, in a way. But actually, Cathy…’ (I was careful to use her name, of course, because it showed I did not consider myself above my constituents, even schoolchildren — future voters, after all) ‘… this power actually makes one rather humble!’

Annie hurried in and interrupted me. The phone had been ringing elsewhere in the house.

‘Bernard just rang, oh Humble One,’ she said. I wish she wouldn’t send me up like that in front of other people. I mean, I’ve got a pretty good sense of humour, but there is a limit.

She went on to tell me that Central House[39] wanted me to see some programme on television. On BBC2.

I had already remembered the wretched programme, and made a note not to watch.

‘Oh Lord,’ I said. ‘Maureen Watkins MP. One of our backbenchers — not my favourite lady, a rampaging feminist, I don’t think I’ll bother.’

In the nick of time I noticed Cathy making a note. I had to explain that my remark was ‘off the record’, a concept that she seemed to have some difficulty with. It reminded me how lucky we are to have those well-trained lobby correspondents to deal with most of the time.

Anyway, she crossed it out. But to my surprise she spoke up in defence of Maureen Watkins.

‘I like her,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think that women are still exploited? All of my friends in 4B think that they are exploited at work and at home and that it’s still a world designed by men and run by men for the convenience of men.’

I was slightly surprised by this little speech. It didn’t sound entirely… home-grown, if you know what I mean. Cathy must have realised, because she had the grace to add: ‘You know — like she says.’

I must say, I’m getting a bit fed up with all this feminist crap. Nowadays, if you so much as compliment a woman on her appearance, you’re told you’re a sexist. This dreadful lesbian lobby is getting everywhere.

So I decided to argue the point with young Cathy. ‘Surely it’s not like that any longer,’ I said with a warm smile. ‘Anyway, she doesn’t carry any weight in the House, thank goodness.’

‘Not in the House, perhaps,’ interjected Annie. ‘It’s full of men.’

I thanked my dear wife for her helpful comment, renewed my smile in Cathy’s direction, and asked her if there was anything else she wanted to know.

‘Just one last question,’ she said. ‘As a Cabinet Minister with all this power, what have you actually achieved?’

I was pleased to answer that question. It seemed an easy one. ‘Achieved?’ I repeated reflectively. ‘Well, all sorts of things. Membership of the Privy Council, membership of the party policy committee…’

She interrupted. It seemed that she wanted to make the question more specific. What, she wanted to know, had I actually done that makes life better for other people.

Well, of course, I was completely nonplussed. Children ask the oddest questions. Right out of left field, as our American allies would say. Certainly no one had ever asked me such a question before.

‘Makes life better?’ I repeated.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘For other people?’ I thought hard, but absolutely nothing sprang to mind. I tried to think as I spoke. ‘There must be a number of things. I mean, that’s what one’s whole job is about, eighteen hours a day, seven days a week…’

Cathy interrupted me as I made the mistake of momentarily drawing breath. She has a future with the BBC, that kid! ‘Could you just give me one or two examples, though? Otherwise my article might be a bit boring.’

‘Examples. Yes, of course I can,’ I said, and found that I couldn’t.

Her pencil was poised expectantly above her lined exercise book. I realised that some explanation was called for.

‘Well,’ I began, ‘you see, it’s difficult to know where to start. So much of government is collective decisions, all of us together, the best minds in the country hammering it out.’

She seemed dissatisfied with my explanation.

‘Yes,’ she said doubtfully, ‘but what is it you’ll look back on afterwards and say “I did that”? You know, like a writer can look at his books.’

Persistent little blighter.

I started to explain the facts of political life. ‘Yes, well, politics is a complex business, Cathy.’ I was careful to use her name again. ‘Lots of people have to have their say. Things take time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

As I looked at her face, I could see an air of disappointment written across it. [In view of the insight that Hacker’s frequently mixed metaphors give us into the clouded state of his mind, we have retained them unless clarity is threatened — Ed.] I began to feel slightly disappointed with myself. I realised that I could not give a proper answer to her question. I also began to feel more than a little irritated that this wretched child should have produced these feelings of inadequacy in me. Enough was enough. It was time to bring the interview to an end.

I pointed out that time was flying, and that I still had to do my boxes. I hustled her out, emphasising how much I’d enjoyed our little talk, and reminding her that she had agreed to let me approve the article before it was printed.

I returned and sat down heavily in my favourite fireside armchair. I was feeling very brought down.

‘Bright kid,’ commented Annie.

‘That’s the last time I ever give an interview to a school magazine,’ I responded. ‘She asked me some very difficult questions.’

‘They weren’t difficult,’ said Annie firmly. ‘Just innocent. She was assuming that there is some moral basis to your activities.’

I was puzzled. ‘But there is,’ I replied.

Annie laughed. ‘Oh Jim, don’t be silly.’

I wasn’t amused. I gazed gloomily into the carefully arranged embers of the artificial gas log fire.

‘What are you sighing for?’ Annie asked.

I tried to explain.

‘What have I achieved?’ I asked. ‘Cathy was right.’

Annie suggested that, since Cathy and I had agreed I had all that power, I should go and achieve something forthwith. She will persist in making these silly suggestions.

‘You know I’m only a Cabinet Minister,’ I snapped.

Annie smiled. ‘It really does make you humble.’

My humility is not in question, and never has been. The point is that I can’t change anything in the foreseeable future. Changing things means getting bills through Parliament, and all the time’s been taken up for the next two years.

Annie was unimpressed.

‘Why don’t you reform the Civil Service?’ she suggested.

She makes it sound like one simple little task instead of a lifetime of dedicated carnage. Which reforms in particular did she have in mind, I wondered? Anyway, any real reform of the Civil Service is impossible, as I explained to her.

‘Suppose I thought up fifty terrific reforms. Who will have to implement them?’

She saw the point at once. ‘The Civil Service,’ we said in unison, and she nodded sympathetically. But Annie doesn’t give up easily.

‘All right,’ she suggested, ‘not fifty reforms. Just one.’

‘One?’

‘If you achieve one important reform of the Civil Service — that would be something.’

Something? It would get into the Guinness Book of Records. I asked her what she was proposing.

‘Make them put more women in top civil servants’ jobs. Women are half the population. Why shouldn’t they be half the Permanent Secretaries? How many women are there at the top?’

I tried to think. Certainly not many. I’d hardly come across any.

‘Equal opportunities,’ I said. I liked the sound it made. It has a good ring to it, that phrase. ‘I’ll have a go,’ I said. ‘Why not? There’s a principle at stake.’

Annie was delighted. ‘You mean you’re going to do something out of pure principle?’

I nodded.

‘Oh Jim,’ she said, with real love and admiration in her voice.

‘Principles,’ I added, ‘are excellent vote-winners.’

Shortly afterwards, Annie developed a headache and went to bed unusually early. I wanted to pursue the conversation with her but she seemed to have lost interest. Odd, that!

October 25th

Today I learned a thing or two about equal opportunities, or the lack of them, in the Civil Service.

Quite coincidentally I had a meeting with Sarah Harrison, who is the only woman Under-Secretary in the DAA.

Sarah really is a splendid person. Very attractive, intelligent, and about thirty-nine or forty years old, which is pretty young for an Under-Sec. She has a brisk and — I suppose — slightly masculine approach to meetings and so forth, but seems to be jolly attractive and feminine in spite of all that.

She has brought me a very difficult letter of complaint from one of the opposition front bench on a constituency matter; something to do with special powers for local authorities for land development in special development areas. I had no idea what it all meant or what I was supposed to do about it.

It turned out that I didn’t have to do anything about it. She explained that some of the facts were wrong, and other points were covered by statutory requirements so that I didn’t have any alternatives anyway.

This is the kind of Civil Service advice that makes a Minister’s life easy. No decision needed, not even an apology required. Nothing to do at all, in fact. Great.

I asked her to draft a reply, and she’d already done it. She handed it across my desk for me to sign. It was impeccable. I found myself wondering why they don’t make more Under-Secretaries like her — and realised that this was the moment to actually find out. So I asked her how many women are there at the top of the Civil Service.

She had an immediate answer to that question. ‘None of the Permanent Secretaries. Four out of one hundred and fifty odd Deputy Secretaries.’

I wondered silently if there are any that aren’t odd. Presumably not, not by the time they become Deputy Secretaries.

I asked her about her grade — Under-Secretary. As I expected, she knew the precise figure.

‘Oh, there’s twenty-seven of us.’

That seemed not so bad. ‘Out of how many?’ I asked.

‘Five hundred and seventy-eight.’

I was shocked. Appalled. I wonder why she wasn’t. At least, she didn’t seem to be, she was answering these questions in her usual bright, cheerful, matter-of-fact sort of way.

‘Doesn’t this appal you?’ I asked.

‘Not really,’ she smiled. ‘I think it’s comic. But then I think the whole Civil Service is comic. It’s run by men, after all.’

As a man who was about to devote himself to the cause of women’s rights, I felt able to rise above that one. I was on her side.

‘What can you do about it?’ I asked. She looked blank. I rephrased it. ‘What can I do about it?’ I said.

She looked me straight in the eye, with a cool clear gaze. Her eyes were a beautiful deep blue. And she wears an awfully nice perfume.

‘Are you serious, Minister?’

I nodded.

‘It’s easy,’ she said. ‘Bring top women from the professions and commerce and industry, straight into the top grades. The pay is quite good for women. There’s long holidays, index-linked pensions. You’d get a lot of very high-quality applicants.’

‘And they could do this job?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’ She seemed surprised at the question.’ I mean, with all due respect,[40] if you can make a journalist MP into an instant Minister, why can’t you make a senior partner of a top legal firm into an Under-Secretary?’ [Hacker, of course, before he became a Minister, had been a journalist, editing the journal Reform — Ed.] ‘Most of the work here only needs about two O-Levels anyway,’ she added.

Bernard came in to remind me of my next appointment. He escorted Sarah out. ‘Bernard,’ I said.

‘Yes Minister?’ he replied as always. I’ve been trying to establish a closer personal relationship with him for nearly a year now, why does he persist in such formality?

‘I wish you’d call me Jim,’ I complained. ‘At least when we’re alone.’

He nodded earnestly. ‘I’ll try to remember that, Minister,’ he replied. Hopeless!

I waved the papers from my meeting with Sarah. ‘Sarah says this complaint is complete nonsense,’ I informed him. ‘And she’s done a reply.’

Bernard was pleased. ‘Fine, we can CGSM it.’

‘CGSM?’ I asked.

‘Civil Service code,’ he explained. ‘It stands for Consignment of Geriatric Shoe Manufacturers.’ I waited for the explanation. ‘A load of old cobblers,’ he added helpfully.[41]

I took the paper from him.

‘I am not a civil servant,’ I remarked loftily. ‘I shall write my own code on it.’

I wrote ‘Round Objects’ in the margin.

October 27th

Today I had a meeting with Sir Humphrey about equal opportunities. But I had taken care not to let on in advance — in his diary Bernard had written ‘Staffing’.

He came in, smiling, confident, benign, patrician, apparently without a care in the world. So I decided to shake him up a bit, then and there.

‘Humphrey,’ I began, ‘I have made a policy decision.’

He froze, half-way down into his chair, in a sort of Groucho Marx position, eyeing me warily with pursed lips.

[Presumably Hacker intended to say that Sir Humphrey eyed him warily, and that simultaneously he had pursed his lips — Ed.]

‘A policy decision, Minister?’ He recovered himself rapidly and pretended to be pleased with this piece of news.

‘Yes,’ I replied cheerfully. ‘I am going to do something about the number of women in the Civil Service.’

‘Surely there aren’t all that many?’ He looked puzzled.

Bernard hastened to explain.

‘The Minister thinks we need more.’

‘Many more,’ I added firmly.

Now Sir Humphrey really was taken aback. His mind was racing. He just couldn’t see what I was driving at. ‘But we’re actually quite well up to Establishment on typists, cleaners, tea-ladies…’ He petered out, then sought advice. ‘Any ideas, Bernard?’

‘Well,’ said Bernard helpfully, ‘we are a bit short of temporary secretaries.’

Clearly Bernard had not got the point either.

‘I’m talking about Permanent Secretaries,’ I said.

Sir Humphrey was stunned. He seemed unable to formulate a sentence in reply. So I went on.

‘We need some female mandarins.’ Sir Humphrey was still mentally pole-axed. He didn’t respond at all. Bernard also seemed completely baffled. He sought clarification.

‘Sort of… satsumas, Minister?’ he enquired desperately.

I’m never quite sure if Bernard has a highly-intelligent deadpan wit, or is faintly moronic. So I merely told him to sit down.

‘How many Permanent Secretaries,’ I asked Sir Humphrey, ‘are there at the moment?’

‘Forty-one, I believe.’

A precise answer.

‘Forty-one,’ I agreed pleasantly. ‘And how many are women?’

Suddenly Sir Humphrey’s memory seemed to fail him. ‘Well, broadly speaking, not having the exact figures to hand, I’m not exactly sure.’

‘Well, approximately?’ I encouraged him to reply.

‘Well,’ he said cautiously, ‘approximately none.’

Close but no cigar, as our American allies would say. Precisely none was the correct answer. And Sir Humphrey knew that only too well. [Hacker was right. The Permanent Secretaries form an exclusive little club in all but name, so exclusive that a newly-nominated Permanent Secretary could, in effect, be blackballed. This would be an ‘informal’ process not fully clear to their political ‘Lords and Masters’, but nonetheless effective for all that — Ed.]

I was beginning to enjoy myself. ‘And I believe there are one hundred and fifty Deputy Secretaries,’ I continued gleefully. ‘Do you know how many of them are women?’

Sir Humphrey hedged. Either he genuinely didn’t know the answer to this one, or wasn’t going to say if he did. ‘It’s difficult to say,’ was the best reply he could manage.

This surprised me. ‘Why is it difficult?’ I wanted to know.

Bernard tried to be helpful again. ‘Well, there’s a lot of old women among the men.’

I ignored him. ‘Four,’ I said to Humphrey. ‘Four women Dep. Secs out of one hundred and fifty-three, to be precise.’

Sir Humphrey seemed impressed that there were so many. ‘Are there indeed,’ he said, slightly wide-eyed.

I had enjoyed my little bit of fun. Now I came bluntly to the point. I had a proposal to make. I’ve been thinking about it since my first conversation with Sarah.

‘I am going to announce,’ I announced, ‘a quota of twenty-five per cent women Deputy Secretaries and Permanent Secretaries to be achieved within the next four years.’

I think Sir Humphrey was rattled, but it was hard to tell because he’s such a smooth operator.

‘Minister, I am obviously in total sympathy with your objectives,’ he said. This remark naturally increased my suspicions.

‘Good,’ I said.

‘Of course there should be more women at the top. Of course. And all of us are deeply concerned by the apparent imbalance.’ I noted the skilful use of the word ‘apparent’. ‘But these things take time.’

I was ready for that one. ‘I want to make a start right away,’ I replied.

‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ responded Sir Humphrey enthusiastically. ‘And I propose that we make an immediate start by setting up an interdepartmental committee…’

This was not what I meant, and he knew it. I told him firmly that I didn’t want the usual delaying tactics.

‘This needs a sledgehammer,’ I declared. ‘We must cut through the red tape.’

Bloody Bernard piped up again. ‘You can’t cut tape with a sledgehammer, it would just…’ and then he made a sort of squashing gesture. I squashed him with a look.

Humphrey seemed upset that I’d accused him of delaying tactics. ‘Minister, you do me an injustice,’ he complained. ‘I was not about to suggest delaying tactics.’

Perhaps I had done him an injustice. I apologised, and waited to see what he was about to suggest.

‘I was merely going to suggest,’ he murmured in a slightly hurt tone, ‘that if we are to have a twenty-five per cent quota of women we must have a much larger intake at the recruitment stage. So that eventually we’ll have twenty-five per cent in the top jobs.’

‘When?’ I asked.

I knew the answer before he said it. ‘In twenty-five years.’

‘No, Humphrey,’ I said, still smiling and patient. ‘I don’t think you’ve quite got my drift. I’m talking about now.’

At last Sir Humphrey got the point. ‘Oh,’ he said, staggered. ‘You mean — now!’

‘Got it in one, Humphrey,’ I replied with my most patronising smile.

‘But Minister,’ he smiled smoothly, ‘it takes time to do things now.’ And he smiled patronisingly back at me. It’s amazing how quickly he recovers his poise.

I’ve been hearing that kind of stuff for nearly a year now. It no longer cuts any ice with me. ‘Ah yes,’ I said, ‘the three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it’s more expensive to do things cheaply, and it’s more democratic to do things secretly. No Humphrey, I’ve suggested four years. That’s masses of time.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘Dear me no, Minister, I don’t mean political time, I mean real time.’ He sat comfortably back in his chair, gazed at the ceiling, and then continued in a leisurely sort of way. ‘Civil servants are grown like oak trees, not mustard and cress. They bloom and ripen with the seasons.’ I’d never heard such pretentious crap. But he was in full flow. ‘They mature like…’

‘Like you?’ I interrupted facetiously.

‘I was going to say,’ he replied tartly, ‘that they mature like an old port.’

‘Grimsby, perhaps?’

He smiled a tiny humourless smile. ‘I am being serious, Minister.’

He certainly was. Apart from being entirely serious about his own importance, he was seriously trying to use all this flimflam to get me to lose track of my new proposal — or, as I think of it, my new policy decision. I decided to go straight for the jugular.

‘I foresaw this problem,’ I said firmly. ‘So I propose that we solve it by bringing in top women from outside the Service to fill vacancies in the top grades.’

Humphrey’s face was a picture. He was absolutely aghast. The colour drained out of his face.

‘Minister… I don’t think I quite…’ His voice petered out as he reached the word ‘understood’.

I was enjoying myself hugely.

‘Watch my lips move,’ I said helpfully, and pointed to my mouth with my forefinger. ‘We… will… bring… women… in… from… out-… side!’ I said it very slowly and carefully, like a deranged speech therapist. He just sat there and stared at me, transfixed, a rabbit with a snake.

Finally he pulled himself together.

‘But,’ he began, ‘the whole strength of our system is that it is incorruptible, pure, unsullied by outside influences.’

I just can’t see the sense in that old chestnut and I said so. ‘People move from one job to another throughout industry, Humphrey — why should the Civil Service be different?’

‘It is different. The Civil Service demands subtlety…’

‘Discretion,’ said Bernard.

‘Devotion to duty,’ said Humphrey.

‘Soundness!’ said Bernard.

‘Soundness!’ repeated Sir Humphrey emphatically. ‘Well said, Bernard. Soundness.’ Bernard had clearly hit upon one of the key compliments in the Civil Service vocabulary.

[Bernard Woolley, of course, had an important vested interest in this conversation. If Hacker’s policy of bringing women in from outside were implemented, this might well have an adverse effect on the promotion prospects of more junior civil servants such as Woolley. And if women could be brought in to fill top jobs from outside, so could men. What, then, would Bernard Woolley’s prospects have been? — Ed.]

Sir Humphrey went on to explain that civil servants require endless patience and boundless understanding, they need to be able to change horses midstream, constantly, as the politicians change their minds. Perhaps it was my imagination, but it seemed to me that he was putting the word ‘minds’ in quotes — as if to imply, ‘as politicians change what they are pleased to call their minds’.

I asked him if he had all these talents. With a modest shrug he replied: ‘Well, it’s just that one has been properly…’

‘Matured,’ I interjected. ‘Like Grimsby.’

‘Trained.’ He corrected me with a tight-lipped smile.

‘Humphrey,’ I said, ‘ask yourself honestly if the system is not at fault. Why are there so few women Deputy Secretaries?’

‘They keep leaving,’ he explained, with an air of sweet reason, ‘to have babies. And things.’

This struck me as a particularly preposterous explanation, ‘Leaving to have babies? At the age of nearly fifty? Surely not!’

But Sir Humphrey appeared to believe it. Desperately he absolved himself of all responsibility or knowledge. ‘Really Minister, I don’t know. Really I don’t. I’m on your side. We do indeed need more women at the top.’

‘Good,’ I replied decisively, ‘because I’m not waiting twenty-five years. We’ve got a vacancy for a Deputy Secretary here, haven’t we?’

He was instantly on his guard. He even thought cautiously for a moment before replying.

‘Yes.’

‘Very well. We shall appoint a woman. Sarah Harrison.’

Again he was astounded, or aghast, or appalled. Something like that. Definitely not pleased, anyway. But he contented himself with merely repeating her name, in a quiet controlled voice.

‘Sarah Harrison?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think she’s very able. Don’t you?’

‘Very able, for a woman. For a person.’ He had corrected himself with scarcely a hesitation.

‘And,’ I added, ‘she has ideas. She’s an original thinker.’

‘I’m afraid that’s true,’ agreed Sir Humphrey, ‘but she doesn’t let it interfere with her work.’

So I asked him what he had against her. He insisted that he had nothing against her, that he was totally pro her. He confirmed that she is an excellent worker, and he pointed out that he is a great supporter of hers and had in fact advocated her promotion to Under-Secretary only last year at a very early age.

‘Would you say she is an outstanding Under-Secretary?’ I asked him.

‘Yes,’ he replied, without equivocation.

‘So,’ I said, ‘on balance it’s a good idea, isn’t it?’

‘On balance? Yes… and no.’

I told him that that was not a clear answer. He said it was a balanced answer. Touché. Then he went on to explain that the point is, in his opinion, that she’s too young and it’s not her turn yet.

I leaped upon that argument. I’d been expecting it. ‘That is precisely what’s wrong with the Civil Service — Buggins’ Turn! Whereas the best people should be promoted, as soon as possible.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Sir Humphrey, ‘as soon as it’s their turn.’

‘Rubbish. Napoleon ruled Europe in his thirties. Alexander the Great conquered the world in his twenties.’

‘They would have made very poor Deputy Secretaries,’ remarked Sir Humphrey contemptuously.

‘At least they didn’t wait their turn,’ I pointed out.

‘And look what happened to them.’ Sir Humphrey clearly thought he’d won our little debate. So I decided to make the argument rather more personal.

‘Look what’s happened to us,’ I said calmly. ‘Instead of this country being run by bright energetic youthful brains it is being run by tired routine-bound fifty-five-year-olds who just want a quiet life.’

Humphrey stared at me coldly. ‘Had you anyone specific in mind, Minister?’

I smiled. ‘Yes… and no, Humphrey.’ Game, set and match to yours truly, I felt.

Sir Humphrey decided to move the debate back to the specific problem. He informed me, in his most matter-of-fact fashion, that Sarah Harrison is an excellent civil servant and a bright hope for the future. But he also reiterated that she is our most junior Under-Secretary and that he cannot and will not recommend her for promotion.

There was a clear implication in that final comment that it was ultimately up to him, and that I should mind my own business.

I told him he was a sexist.

I’m surprised he didn’t laugh at me. Surprisingly, this trendy insult seemed to cut him to the quick. He was outraged.

‘Minister,’ he complained bitterly, ‘how can you say such a thing? I’m very pro-women. Wonderful people, women. And Sarah Harrison is a dear lady. I’m one of her most ardent admirers. But the fact is that if the cause of women is to be advanced it must be done with tact and care and discretion. She is our only woman contender for a top job. We mustn’t push her too fast. Women find top jobs very difficult, you know.’

He is a sexist.

‘Can you hear yourself?’ I asked incredulously.

Unabashed, he continued in the same vein. ‘If women were able to be good Permanent Secretaries, there would be more of them, wouldn’t there? Stands to reason.’

I’ve never before heard a reply that so totally begs the question.

‘No Humphrey!’ I began, wondering where to begin.

But on he went. ‘I’m no anti-feminist. I love women. Some of my best friends are women. My wife, indeed.’ Methinks Sir Humphrey doth protest too much. And on and on he went. ‘Sarah Harrison is not very experienced, Minister, and her two children are still of school age, they might get mumps.’

Another daft argument. Anybody can be temporarily off work through their own ill-health, not just their children’s. ‘You might get shingles, Humphrey, if it comes to that,’ I said.

He missed my point. ‘I might indeed, Minister, if you continue in this vein,’ he muttered balefully. ‘But what if her children caused her to miss work all the time?’

I asked him frankly if this were likely. I asked if she were likely to have reached the rank of Under-Secretary if her children kept having mumps. I pointed out that she was the best person for the job.

He didn’t disagree about that. But he gave me an indignant warning: ‘Minister, if you go around promoting women just because they’re the best person for the job, you could create a lot of resentment throughout the whole Civil Service.’

‘But not from the women in it,’ I pointed out.

‘Ah,’ said Sir Humphrey complacently, ‘but there are so few of them that it wouldn’t matter so much.’

A completely circular argument. Perhaps this is what is meant by moving in Civil Service circles.

[Later in the week Sir Humphrey Appleby had lunch with Sir Arnold Robinson, the Cabinet Secretary, at the Athenaeum Club. Sir Humphrey, as always, made a note on one of his pieces of memo paper — Ed.]

Arnold’s feelings are the same as mine when it comes to women. But like me — and unlike the Minister — he sees quite clearly that they are different from us. In the following ways:-

Bad for teamwork: they put strains on a team, by reacting differently from us.

Too emotional: they are not rational like us.

Can’t be Reprimanded: they either get into a frightful bate or start blubbing.

Can be Reprimanded: some of them can be, but are frightfully hard and butch and not in the least bit attractive.

Prejudices: they are full of them.

Silly Generalisations: they make them.

Stereotypes: they think in them.

I asked Arnold for his advice. Arnold suggested that I lecture the Minister at such length on the matter that he becomes bored and loses interest in the whole idea.

There is a remote chahce of success for such a plan. But Hacker does not get bored easily. He even finds himself interesting. They all do in fact. All the ones who listen to what they’re saying of course. On second thoughts, that is by no means all of them.

But the fact remains that Hacker’s boredom threshold is high. He even reads most of the stuff that we put into his red boxes, with apparent interest!

Arnold also suggested that standard second ploy: to tell the Minister that the Unions won’t wear it. [‘It’ being the importation of women into the Service to fill some top jobs — Ed.] We agreed that this was a line of action worth pursuing.

We also discussed the feminine angle. His wife [the Minister’s, that is — Ed.] is in favour of promoting the Harrison female, and may well — from what I know of Mrs Hacker — be behind all this. However, she may not know that Harrison is extremely attractive. I’m sure Mrs H. and Mrs H. have never met. This could well be fruitful.

I pointed out that the Cabinet will be in favour of Hacker’s proposal. But we agreed that we could doubtless get the Cabinet to change their minds. They change their minds fairly easily. Just like a lot of women. Thank God they don’t blub.

[Appleby Papers 37/6PJ/457]

[It is interesting to compare Sir Humphrey’s self-confident account of this luncheon with the notes made by Sir Arnold Robinson on Sir Humphrey’s report, which were found among the Civil Service files at Walthamstow — Ed.]

Told Appleby that I wasn’t impressed with his Minister’s plan to bring in women from outside, novel though the idea may be.

[‘Wasn’t impressed’ would be an example of Civil Service understatement. Readers may imagine the depth of feeling behind such a phrase. The use of the Civil Service killer word ‘novel’ is a further indication of Sir Arnold’s hostility — Ed.]

Suggested that he bore the Minister out of the idea. Appleby claimed that this would not work. Probably correctly.

So I made various other suggestions. For instance, the Trade Union ploy: suggesting to the Minister that the Unions won’t wear it. Appleby missed the point completely. He told me that the Unions would like it. He’s probably right, but it was completely beside the point!

I also suggested pointing the Minister’s wife in the right direction. And suggested that we try to ensure that the Cabinet throws it out. Appleby agreed to try all these plans. But I am disturbed that he had thought of none of them himself.

Must keep a careful eye on H.A. Is early retirement a possibility to be discussed with the PM?

A.R.

[Naturally, Sir Humphrey never saw these notes, because no civil servant is ever shown his report except in wholly exceptional circumstances.

And equally naturally, Hacker never knew of the conversation between Sir Arnold and Sir Humphrey over luncheon at the Athenaeum.

It was in this climate of secrecy that our democracy used to operate. Civil servants’ word for secrecy was ‘discretion’. They argued that discretion was the better part of valour — Ed.]

[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]

November 1st

Sir Humphrey walked into my office today, sat down and made the most startling remark that I have yet heard from him.

‘Minister,’ he said, ‘I have come to the conclusion that you were right.’

I’ve been nothing but right ever since I took on this job, and finally, after nearly a year, it seemed that he was beginning to take me seriously.

However, I was immediately suspicious, and I asked him to amplify his remark. I had not the least idea to which matter he was referring. Of course, asking Humphrey to amplify his remarks is often a big mistake.

‘I am fully-seized of your ideas and have taken them on board and I am now positively against discrimination against women and positively in favour of positive discrimination in their favour — discriminating discrimination of course.’

I think it was something like that. I got the gist of it anyway.

Then he went on, to my surprise: ‘I understand a view is forming at the very highest level that this should happen.’ I think he must have been referring to the PM. Good news.

Then, to my surprise he asked why the matter of equal opportunities for women should not apply to politics as well as the Civil Service. I was momentarily confused. But he explained that there are only twenty-three women MPs out of a total of six hundred and fifty. I agreed that this too is deplorable, but, alas, there is nothing at all that we can do about that.

He remarked that these figures were an indication of discrimination against women by the political parties. Clearly, he argued, the way they select candidates is fundamentally discriminatory.

I found myself arguing in defence of the parties. It was a sort of reflex action. ‘Yes and no,’ I agreed. ‘You know, it’s awfully difficult for women to be MPs — long hours, debates late at night, being away from home a lot. Most women have a problem with that and with homes, and husbands.’

‘And mumps,’ he added helpfully.

I realised that he was sending me up. And simultaneously trying to suggest that I too am a sexist. An absurd idea, of course, and I told him so in no uncertain terms.

I steered the discussion towards specific goals and targets. I asked what we would do to start implementing our plan.

Humphrey said that the first problem would be that the unions won’t agree to this quota.

I was surprised to hear this, and immediately suggested that we get them in to talk about it.

This suggestion made him very anxious. ‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘No. That would stir up a hornet’s nest.’

I couldn’t see why. Either Humphrey was paranoid about the unions — or it was just a ploy to frighten me. I suspect the latter. [Hacker was now learning fast — Ed.]

The reason I suspect a trick is that he offered no explanation as to why we shouldn’t talk to the union leaders. Instead he went off on an entirely different tack.

‘If I might suggest we be realistic about this…’ he began.

I interrupted. ‘By realistic, do you mean drop the whole scheme?’

‘No!’ he replied vehemently. ‘Certainly not! But perhaps a pause to regroup, a lull in which we reassess the position and discuss alternative strategies, a space of time for mature reflection and deliberation…’

I interrupted again. ‘Yes, you mean drop the whole scheme.’ This time I wasn’t asking a question. And I dealt with the matter with what I consider to be exemplary firmness. I told him that I had set my hand to the plough and made my decision. ‘We shall have a twenty-five per cent quota of women in the open structure in four years from now. And to start with I shall promote Sarah Harrison to Dep. Sec.’

He was frightfully upset. ‘No Minister!’ he cried in vain. ‘I’m sure that’s the wrong decision.’

This was quite a remarkable reaction from the man who had begun the meeting by telling me that I was absolutely right.

I emphasised that I could not be moved on this matter because it is a matter of principle. I added that I shall have a word with my Cabinet colleagues, who are bound to support me as there are a lot of votes in women’s rights.

‘I thought you said it was a matter of principle, Minister, not of votes.’

He was being too clever by half. I was able to explain, loftily, that I was referring to my Cabinet colleagues. For me it is a matter of principle.

A very satisfactory meeting. I don’t think he can frustrate me on this one.

November 2nd

Had a strange evening out with Annie. She collected me from the office at 5.30, because we had to go to a party drinks ‘do’ at Central House.

I had to keep her waiting a while because my last meeting of the day ran late, and I had a lot of letters to sign.

Signing letters, by the way, is an extraordinary business because there are so many of them. Bernard lays them out in three or four long rows, all running the full length of my conference table — which seats twelve a side. Then I whiz along the table, signing the letters as I go. It’s quicker to move me than them. As I go Bernard collects the signed letters up behind me, and moves a letter from the second row to replace the signed and collected one in the first row. Then I whiz back along the table, signing the next row.

I don’t actually read them all that carefully. It shows the extent of my trust for Bernard. Sometimes I think that I might sign absolutely anything if I were in a big enough hurry.

Bernard had an amusing bit of news for me today.

‘You remember that letter you wrote “Round objects” on?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Well,’ he said with a slight smile, ‘it’s come back from Sir Humphrey’s office. He commented on it.’

And he showed me the letter. In the margin Humphrey had written: ‘Who is Round and to what does he object?’

Anyway, I digress. While all this signing was going on, Annie was given a sherry by Humphrey in his office. I thought it was jolly nice of him to take the trouble to be sociable when he could have been on the 5.59 for Haslemere. Mind you, I think he likes Annie and anyway perhaps he thinks it’s politic to chat up the Minister’s wife.

But, as I say, Annie and I had a strange evening. She seemed rather cool and remote. I asked her if anything was wrong, but she wouldn’t say what. Perhaps she resented my keeping her waiting so long, because I know she finds Humphrey incredibly boring. Still, that’s the penalty you have to pay if you’re married to a successful man.

[A note in Sir Humphrey’s diary reveals the true cause of Mrs Hacker’s disquiet — Ed.]

Had a sherry with Mrs Hacker this evening. The Minister was delayed signing letters, which was not entirely coincidental. Naturally I had taken care to ensure that his previous meeting overran somewhat.

I brought the conversation around to the matter of changing and reforming the Civil Service. As expected, she was pretty keen on the whole idea.

Immediately she asked me about the promotion of the Harrison female. ‘What about promoting this woman that Jim was talking about?’

I talked about it all with great enthusiasm. I said that the Minister certainly has an eye for talent. I said that Sarah was undoubtedly very talented. And thoroughly delightful. A real charmer.

I continued for many minutes in the same vein. I said how much I admired this new generation of women civil servants compared with the old battle-axes of yesteryear. I said that naturally most of the new generation aren’t as beautiful as Sarah, but they all are thoroughly feminine.

Mrs Hacker was becoming visibly less enthusiastic about Sarah Harrison’s promotion, minute by minute. She remarked that Hacker had never discussed what Sarah looked like.

I laughed knowingly. I said that perhaps he hadn’t noticed, though that would be pretty hard to believe. I laid it on pretty thick — made her sound like a sort of administrative Elizabeth Taylor. I said that no man could fail to notice how attractive she was, especially the Minister, as he spends such a considerable amount of time with her. And will spend even more if she’s promoted.

My feeling is that the Minister will get no further encouragement from home on this matter.

[Appleby Papers 36/RJC/471]

[Sir Arnold Robinson and Sir Humphrey Appleby were plainly quite confident, as we have already seen, that they could sway a sufficient number of Hacker’s Cabinet colleagues to vote against this proposal when it came before them.

The source of their confidence was the practice, current in the 1970s and 1980s, of holding an informal meeting of Permanent Secretaries on Wednesday mornings. This meeting took place in the office of the Cabinet Secretary, had no agenda and was — almost uniquely among Civil Service meetings — unminuted.

Permanent Secretaries would ‘drop in’ and raise any question of mutual interest. This enabled them all to be fully-briefed about any matters that were liable to confront their Ministers in Cabinet, which took place every Thursday morning, i.e. the next day. And it gave them time to give their Ministers encouragement or discouragement as they saw fit on particular issues.

Fortunately Sir Humphrey’s diary reveals what occurred at the Permanent Secretaries’ meeting that fateful Wednesday morning — Ed.]

I informed my colleagues that my Minister is intent on creating a quota of twenty-five per cent women in the open structure, leading to an eventual fifty per cent. Parity, in other words.

Initially, my colleagues’ response was that it was an interesting suggestion.

[‘Interesting’ was another Civil Service form of abuse, like ‘novel’ or, worse still, ‘imaginative’ — Ed.]

Arnold set the tone for the proper response. His view was that it is right and proper that men and women be treated fairly and equally. In principle we should all agree, he said, that such targets should be set and goals achieved.

Everyone agreed immediately that we should agree in principle to such an excellent idea, that it was right and proper to set such targets and achieve such goals.

Arnold then canvassed several of my colleagues in turn, to see if they could implement this excellent proposal in their departments.

Bill [Sir William Carter, Permanent Secretary at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office — Ed.] said that he was in full agreement, naturally. He believes that the Civil Service must institute some positive discrimination in favour of women. But regretfully he felt obliged to point out that it cannot happen in the FCO for obvious reasons. Clearly we cannot post women ambassadors to Iran, or any of the Muslim countries, for instance. Generally speaking most of the Third World countries are not as advanced as we are in connection with women’s rights — and as we have to send our diplomats to new postings every three years, and entertain many Islamic VIPs in this country, the proposal would definitely not work for the FCO. Nonetheless he wished to make it clear that he applauded the principle.

Ian [Sir Ian Simpson, Permanent Secretary of the Home Office — Ed.] said that he was enthusiastically in favour of the principle. He believes we all could benefit from the feminine touch. Furthermore, women are actually better at handling some problems than men. He had no doubt about this. Regretfully, however, an exception would have to be made in the case of the Home Office: women are not the right people to run prisons, or the police. And quite probably, they wouldn’t want to do it anyway.

We all agreed that this was probably so.

Peter [Sir Peter Wainwright, Permanent Secretary of the Department of Defence — Ed.] said that, alas! the same applies to Defence. Women are hardly the people to control all those admirals and generals. Nor is it a practical possibility to place a woman at the Head of Security.

I observed that M. would have to become F. This provoked a gratifying degree of merriment around the table.

Arnold, speaking for us all, agreed that Defence must clearly be a man’s world. Like Industry. And Employment, with all those trade union barons to cope with.

John [Sir John McKendrick, Permanent Secretary of the Department of Health and Social Security — Ed.] took an even more positive line. He was happy to inform us that women are already well represented near the top of the DHSS, which has two of the four women Dep. Secs. currently in Whitehall. Neither of them is in line for Permanent Secretary, obviously, as they are Deputy Chief Medical Officers (and in any case they may not be suitable for other reasons). Furthermore, women constitute eighty per cent of the typing grades, so he was delighted to be able to tell us that his Department is not doing too badly by them. He added that, in principle, he was in favour of them going to the very top.

Arnold summed up all the views expressed: the feeling of the meeting was — unquestionably — that in principle we were all thoroughly in favour of equal rights for the ladies. It is just that there are special problems in individual departments.

I raised again the question of the quota and stated that I was against it.

Everyone immediately supported me. There was a feeling that it was not on and a bad idea — in fact a typical politician’s idea.

I gave my view: namely, that we must always have the right to promote the best man for the job, regardless of sex.

Furthermore — and I made it clear that I was speaking as an ardent feminist myself — I pointed out that the problem lay in recruiting the right sort of women. Married women with families tend to drop out because, in all honesty, they cannot give their work their full single-minded attention. And unmarried women with no children are not fully-rounded people with a thorough understanding of life.

There was general agreement that family life was essential and that it was hard for spinsters to be fully-rounded individuals.

I summed up my remarks by saying that, in practice, it is rarely possible to find a fully-rounded married woman with a happy home and three children who is prepared to devote virtually her whole life, day and night, to a Government Department. It’s Catch-22 — or, rather, Catch-22, sub-paragraph (a). This remark produced more gratifying merriment from my colleagues.

Arnold had allowed considerable time for this discussion, which indicates the importance that he attached to the problem. He concluded the matter by asking everyone present to ensure that all of their respective Ministers oppose the quota idea in Cabinet by seeing that each Minister’s attention is drawn to each Department’s own special circumstances. But he also asked all present to be sure to recommend the principle of equal opportunities at every level.

Through the chair, I made one final point. My Minister sees the promotion of women as one means of achieving greater diversity at the top of the Service. I asked all my colleagues to stress, when briefing their Ministers, that quite frankly one could not find a more diverse collection of people than us.

It was unanimously agreed that we constitute a real cross-section of the nation. [Appleby Papers — 41/AAG/583]

[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]

November 4th

Cabinet today. And with a very odd outcome. I put forward my proposal for a quota for women for top Civil Service jobs.

All my Cabinet colleagues agreed in principle but then they all went on to say that it wouldn’t work in their particular Departments. So in the end they didn’t really support me at all.

Curiously enough, I’m no longer getting the support from Annie that I was. Not about the quota, specifically, but about promoting Sarah. I had expected her to be at least one hundred per cent behind it. But she goes all distant when I talk about it. In fact, she seems to be dead against it now. Extraordinary.

However, as the quota policy is now in ruins it seems that Sarah’s promotion is the only thing left that I can immediately achieve in this area. I have arranged that Humphrey and I speak to her tomorrow. I am determined to push it through.

November 5th

My whole equal opportunities policy is destroyed, and quite frankly I feel pretty bitter about the whole thing in general and women in particular. Or at least one particular woman in particular.

Before I saw Sarah today I told Humphrey that we at least could make one tiny positive step today. Lighting a spark. [It was Guy Fawkes Day — Ed.]

‘Carrying a torch, even,’ he replied. What was that supposed to mean?

Anyway, Sarah came in. I explained the background to her: that we have a vacancy for a Deputy Secretary in the Department and that, in spite of her being the most junior of our Under-Secs but because she is the outstanding person in her grade, we were happy to be able to tell her that Humphrey and I were recommending her for promotion to the rank of Deputy Secretary.

Her reaction was a little surprising.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ And then she laughed.

I couldn’t imagine what she was laughing at.

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ I said.

‘A simple thank you should suffice,’ said Humphrey.

She was still smiling. Then she dropped the bombshell. ‘No — I mean — oh gosh! Look, this is awfully embarrassing — I mean, well, I was going to tell you next week — the fact is I’m resigning from the Civil Service.’

You could have knocked me down with a feather. And Humphrey too, by the look of him.

I said something brilliantly witty and apposite, like ‘What?’, and Humphrey gasped ‘resigning?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘So thank you, but no thank you.’

Humphrey asked if there was some problem with her children at home.

Bernard suggested mumps.

I suggested that Bernard shut up.

Sarah said she was joining a merchant bank. As a Director.

She’ll earn more than me. Perhaps even more than Humphrey!

I tried to explain to her that this news was a frightful blow. ‘You see, Sarah, the reason that I’m telling you of your promotion — or rather, Humphrey and I together — is that I have been fighting a losing battle to improve the promotion prospects of women at the top of the Service. And, well, you were to be my Trojan Horse.’

She then explained the reason for her move. ‘Quite honestly, Minister, I want a job where I don’t spend endless hours circulating information that isn’t relevant about subjects that don’t matter to people who aren’t interested. I want a job where there is achievement rather than merely activity. I’m tired of pushing paper. I would like to be able to point at something and say “I did that.”’

The irony of what she was saying was extraordinary. I understand her feeling only too well.

Sir Humphrey didn’t. He looked blank. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘I know. That’s why I’m leaving.’

I explained that I did understand. But I asked her if she was saying that governing Britain is unimportant.

‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s very important. It’s just that I haven’t met anyone who’s doing it.’

She added that she’d had enough of the pointless intrigue. I asked what she had in mind. ‘Your using me as a Trojan Horse, for instance. And they probably told you that the unions wouldn’t wear it if you promoted me.’

I was staggered. Had there been a leak? I asked her how she knew.

She was delighted. She grinned from ear to ear. ‘Oh, I didn’t know. I just know how things are done here.’

We both stared at Humphrey, who had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

I made one last effort to persuade her to change her mind. ‘Look here, Sarah,’ I said sternly, ‘you don’t seem to appreciate that I’ve fought quite a battle for you.’

Suddenly her eyes blazed. For the first time I recognised the toughness that had brought her to near the top. And the sense of style and dignity. I realised that I’d said something awfully wrong.

‘Oh, have you?’ she asked. ‘Well, I didn’t ask you to fight a battle for me. I’m not pleased at the idea of being part of a twenty-five per cent quota. Women are not inferior beings, and I don’t enjoy being patronised. I’m afraid you’re as paternalist and chauvinist as the rest of them. I’m going somewhere where I shall be accepted as an equal, on my own merits, as a person.’

I was speechless. Clearly I’d offended her. And I suddenly realised that you can’t win.

‘May I go now?’

There was, of course, no reason to keep her sitting there. I apologised for offending her, though I couldn’t see how I’d done it.

‘No,’ she said, in a kindly way. ‘And thank you — I know you both mean well.’ And off she went, leaving two very puzzled and deflated chaps.

‘Women!’ I said.

‘Yes Minister,’ murmured Humphrey, nodding sadly as if to say ‘I told you so!’

[This was not quite the end of the matter. Recently published papers revealed that Hacker fought on for his twenty-five per cent quota for some considerable time — some weeks, anyway. And, as Sir Harold Wilson once said, a week is a long time in politics.

Sir Humphrey’s ingenuity rose to the occasion. He warned Hacker that the Race Relations Board had heard on the grapevine of his proposed quota for women. He told Hacker that if there was to be any affirmative action within the Civil Service, there must also be a quota of blacks within the Civil Service. Sir Humphrey explained that there was a principle at stake.

Hacker was less than enthusiastic about this new principle. He was certainly not a racist, but he could see clearly that whereas a quota for women was a vote-winner, a quota for blacks was in all probability a vote-loser.

Some days later Hacker raised what he called ‘this whole business of minority groups — women, blacks, trades unionists and so forth’.

Sir Humphrey explained to Hacker that women and trades unionists were not minority groups, even though they share the same paranoia which is the hallmark of any minority group.

So finally Hacker proposed what Appleby had always proposed: namely, that they start by creating equal opportunities for both women and blacks. In the recruitment grades.

And they drew up terms of reference for an interdepartmental committee to report on methods of choosing the right individuals to be civil servants, to report four years hence. By which time Hacker would certainly no longer be the Minister — Ed.]

[In early November Jim Hacker apparently bought a microcomputer. An ex-journalist, he was a competent typist and for the next three months all of his diary was committed to the memory of his computer by means of the word-processing software.

Unfortunately, in early March of the year following he accidentally erased everything on his floppy disc. Abandoning word-processing for ever, he resumed dictation into the cassette recorder on 10 March Ed.]