The Complete Yes Minister

18 The Bed of Nails

[In politics, August is known as the ‘silly season’. This is a time when voters are away on holiday, and trivial issues are pushed in the forefront of the press in order to sell newspapers to holidaymakers. It is also the time when the House of Commons has risen for the summer recess and is thus an excellent time for the government to announce new or controversial measures about which the House of Commons cannot protest until they reconvene in October — by which time most political events that took place in August would be regarded as dead ducks by the media.

It follows that August is also the time when Cabinet Ministers are most off their guard. Members of Parliament are not at hand to question them or harass them, and the Ministers themselves — secure from the unlikely event of an August reshuffle and secure from serious press coverage of their activities — relax more than they should.

Perhaps this is the explanation of the transport policy crisis, which very nearly led to Hacker taking on one of the most unpopular jobs in Whitehall. How he evaded it is a tribute to the shrewd guiding hand of Sir Humphrey, coupled with Hacker’s own growing political skills.

Early in the month a meeting took place at Ten Downing Street between Sir Mark Spencer, the Prime Minister’s Chief Special Adviser, and Sir Arnold Robinson, the Secretary of the Cabinet. Sir Mark’s files contain no reference to this meeting, but as he was not a career civil servant this is not surprising. But Sir Arnold Robinson’s diary, recently found in the Civil Service archives Walthamstow, reveal a conspiracy in the making — Ed.]

Lunched with Sir Mark Spencer today. He and the PM are keen to bring in an integrated transport policy.

I suggested that Hacker could be the best man for the job, as he doesn’t know anything at all about the subject. The Secretary of State for Transport, who knows a lot about it, won’t touch it with a ten foot barge pole. M.S. and I agreed that this job was indeed a bed of nails, a crown of thorns, a booby trap — which is why I suggested Hacker, of course.

He is ideally qualified, as I explained to M.S., because the job needs a particular talent — lots of activity, but no actual achievement.

At first M.S. couldn’t see how to swing it on Hacker. The answer was obvious: we had to make it seem like a special honour.

The big problem was to get Hacker to take it on before Humphrey Appleby hears of it, because there’s no doubt that Old Humpy would instantly smell a rat. ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes’[48] he would be sure to say, though he’d probably have to say it in English for Hacker’s benefit as Hacker went to the LSE.[49]

It seemed clear that we had to get a commitment today, especially as my departure for the Florida Conference on ‘Government and Participation’ is both imminent and urgent, tomorrow at the latest. [During the 1970s and 1980s it was the custom for senior government officials to send themselves off on futile conferences to agreeable resorts at public expense during the month of August — Ed.]

Hacker came to meet us at tea-time. I had resolved to flatter him, which almost invariably leads to success with politicians. M.S. and I agreed therefore that we would give the job the title of Transport Supremo, which was a lot more attractive than Transport Muggins.

I was also careful not to inform him in advance of the purpose of the meeting, partly because I did not want him to have the opportunity to discuss it with Humpy, and partly because I knew he would be anxious about being summoned to Number Ten. This would surely make him more pliable.

Events turned out precisely as I anticipated. He knew nothing whatever about transport, floundered hopelessly, was flattered to be asked and accepted the job.

It is fortunate that I shall be leaving for the country tonight, before Humpy gets to hear about all this.

[It is interesting to compare the above recollections with Hacker’s account of the same day’s events in his diary — Ed.]

August 11th

An absolutely splendid day today, with a big boost for my morale.

I was summoned to meet Mark Spencer at Number Ten. Naturally I was a bit wary, especially as I knew the PM hadn’t been awfully pleased to hear about that business with the rosewater jar, even though no harm came of it all in the end. I thought I might be in for a bit of a wigging, for when I got there I was met by Arnold Robinson, the Cabinet Secretary.

However, the meeting was for quite a different purpose — I’ve been promoted.

Arnold kicked off by saying they wanted to offer me something that was rather an honour. For a split second I was horrified — I thought they were telling me I was to be kicked upstairs. It was a nasty moment. But, in fact, they want to put me in charge of a new integrated national transport policy.

They asked me for my views on transport. I had none, but I don’t think they realised because I carefully invited them to explain themselves further. I’m sure they thought that I was merely playing my cards close to my chest.

‘We’ve been discussing a national integrated transport policy,’ they said.

‘Well, why not?’ I replied casually.

‘You’re in favour?’ enquired Sir Arnold quickly.

I thought the answer required was ‘yes’ but I wasn’t yet sure so I contented myself by looking enigmatic. I’m sure that they were by now convinced that I was sound, because Sir Mark continued: ‘Unfortunately, public dissatisfaction with the nationalised transport industries is now at a high enough level to worry the government, as you know.’

Again he waited. ‘Can you go on?’ I enquired.

He went on. ‘We need a policy.’ I nodded sagely. ‘It’s no good just blaming the management when there’s an R in the month and blaming the unions the rest of the time.’

Sir Arnold chipped in. ‘And unfortunately now they’ve all got together. They all say that it’s all the government’s fault — everything that goes wrong is the result of not having a national transport policy.’

This was all news to me. I thought we had a policy. As a matter of fact, I specifically recall that in our discussions prior to the writing of our manifesto we decided that our policy was not to have a policy. I said so.

Sir Mark nodded. ‘Be that as it may,’ he grunted, ‘the PM now wants a positive policy.’

I wished Sir Mark had said so earlier. But I can take a hint, and it was not too late. ‘Ah, the PM, I see.’ I nodded again. ‘Well, I couldn’t agree more, I’ve always thought so myself.’

Sir Arnold and Sir Mark looked pleased, but I still couldn’t see what it had to do with me. I assumed that it was a Department of Transport matter. Sir Arnold disabused me.

‘Obviously the Transport Secretary would love to get his teeth into the job, but he’s a bit too close to it all.’

‘Can’t see the wood for the trees,’ said Sir Mark.

‘Needs an open mind. Uncluttered,’ added Sir Arnold.

‘So,’ said Sir Mark, ‘the PM has decided to appoint a Supremo to develop and implement a national transport policy.’

A Supremo. I asked if I were the PM’s choice. The knights nodded. I must admit I felt excited and proud and really rather overwhelmed by this extraordinary good piece of news. And there were more compliments to come.

‘It was decided,’ said Sir Mark, ‘that you had the most open mind of all.’

‘And the most uncluttered,’ added Sir Arnold. They really were grovelling.

I naturally responded cautiously. Firstly because I simply couldn’t imagine what the job entailed, and secondly it’s always good to play hard to get when you’re in demand. So I thanked them for the honour, agreed that it was a pretty vital and responsible job, and asked what it entailed.

‘It’s to help the consumer,’ said Sir Mark. Though when Sir Arnold laboriously pointed out that helping the consumer was always a vote-winner, I reminded him firmly that I was interested purely because I saw it as my duty to help. My sense of public duty.

During the conversation it gradually became clear what they had in mind. All kinds of idiocies have occurred in the past, due to a lack of a natural integrated policy. Roughly summarising now, Sir Mark and Sir Arnold were concerned about:

Motorway planning: Our motorways were planned without reference to railways, so that now there are great stretches of motorway running alongside already existing railways.

As a result, some parts of the country are not properly served at all.

The through-ticket problem: If, for instance, you want to commute from Henley to the City, you have to buy a British Rail ticket to Paddington and then buy an underground ticket to the Bank.

Timetables: The complete absence of combined bus and railway timetables.

Airport Links: Very few. For instance, there’s a British Rail Western Region line that runs less than a mile north of Heathrow — but no link line.

Connections: Bus and train services don’t connect up, all over London.

Sir A. and Sir M. outlined these problems briefly. They added that there are probably problems outside London too, although understandably they didn’t know about them.

The possibilities are obviously great, and it’s all very exciting. I suggested having a word with Humphrey before I accepted responsibility, but they made it plain that they wanted my opinion and approval. Not his. Rather flattering, really. Also, it shows that they have finally realised that I’m not a straw man — I really run my Department, not like some Ministers.

Furthermore it transpired that the PM was due to leave for the airport in thirty minutes on the long trip involving the Ottawa Conference, and the opening of the UN General Assembly in New York, and then on to the meeting in Washington.

Jokingly I asked, ‘Who’s going to run the country for the next week?’ but Sir Arnold didn’t seem awfully amused.

Sir Mark asked if he could give the PM the good news that I had taken on the job on the way to the airport.

Graciously, I agreed.

Hacker leaving Downing Street after the meeting (London Press Association)

August 12th

At an early morning meeting with Sir Humphrey, I told him I had good news. ‘I’ve got a new job,’ I began.

‘Oh dear, the Department will be awfully sorry to lose you,’ he responded pleasantly. A bit too pleasantly, perhaps.

But I explained that it was merely an extra job, developing and implementing an integrated national transport policy. At the special request of the PM. My Permanent Secretary did not seem pleased. In fact, he seemed to flinch.

‘I see,’ he replied. ‘And what was the good news?’

I thought he must have misheard, so I told him again.

‘So how,’ he enquired drily, ‘if I may be so bold as to enquire, would you define bad news?’

I asked him to explain himself.

‘Minister,’ he said with a heavy sigh, ‘are you aware what this job would mean if you accepted it?’

‘I have accepted it.’

His mouth dropped open. ‘You’ve what?’ he gasped.

‘I have accepted it.’ I went on to explain that it is an honour, and also that we need a transport policy.

‘If by “we” you mean Britain, that’s perfectly true,’ he acknowledged. ‘But if by “we” you mean you and me and this Department, we need a transport policy like an aperture in the cranial cavity.’[50]

He went on to describe the job as a bed of nails, a crown of thorns, and a booby trap.

At first I thought he was just being silly or lazy or something. I could see that it would cause him some extra administrative problems, but on the other hand it usually gave Humphrey pleasure to add to his empire — bigger budget, more staff, all that sort of thing.

‘No Minister, the point is that you are the one who is at risk. My job, as always, is merely to protect the seat of your trousers. The reason that there has never been an integrated transport policy is that such a policy is in everybody’s interest except the Minister who creates it.’

I couldn’t see why.

Humphrey paused for a minute, and gazed at the ceiling contemplatively. ‘How can I put it in a manner that is close to your heart?’ he asked himself. I waited. So did Bernard. ‘Ah, I have it,’ he murmured, turning to look at me straight in the eye. ‘It is the ultimate vote-loser.’

I was stunned. Vote-loser?

Sir Humphrey explained, ‘Why do you think the Transport Secretary isn’t doing this?’

I was just about to reply that the Transport Secretary is apparently too close to it and can’t see the wood for the trees, when Sir Humphrey said: ‘He’s too close to it, I suppose? Can’t see the wood for the trees? Is that what they told you?’

‘You tell me another reason then,’ I challenged him.

‘Why do you think the Transport Secretary suggested the Lord Privy Seal? Why do you think the Lord Privy Seal suggested the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster? Why do you think he suggested the Lord President of the Council?’

I had to confess I knew nothing of all this.

Sir Humphrey continued relentlessly. ‘And why do you think they invited you to Number Ten behind my back?’ I must admit that this explanation never occurred to me. ‘Minister, this hideous appointment has been hurtling round Whitehall for the last three weeks like a grenade with the pin taken out.’

He may be right, of course. He’s usually pretty well up on all the gossip. But I was not about to concede the point. I felt that Humphrey’s attitude was coloured by sour grapes — sour grapes that I had been honoured in this way, and sour grapes that he hadn’t been consulted, either by them or by me.

‘If I can pull it off,’ I said carefully, ‘it will be a feather in my cap.’

‘If you pull it off,’ said Bernard, ‘it won’t be in your cap any more.’ I scowled at him, and he went pink and studied his shoes.

Sir Humphrey wasn’t impressed with my argument. He believes that if I do pull it off, no one will feel the benefits for ten years and long before that we will both have moved on. Or up. Or out.

‘In the meantime,’ he continued, ‘formulating policy means making choices. Once you make a choice you please the people you favour but you infuriate everyone else. This is liable to end up as one vote gained, ten lost. If you give a job to the road services, the Rail Board and unions will scream. If you give it to the railways, the road lobby will massacre you. If you cut British Airways’ investment plans they’ll hold a devastating press conference the same afternoon. And you can’t expand, because an overall saving is the Treasury’s fundamental requirement.’

I voiced the small hope that, as I am to be the Transport Supremo, my views might carry some weight.

Humphrey could not disguise the sneer on his face. ‘Transport Muggins is the Civil Service vernacular, I’m afraid. All the enemies you will make are experts in manipulating the media. PROs, trades unionists, MPs in affected constituencies. There’ll be someone on television every night vilifying Hacker’s Law, saying that you are a national disaster.’

His attitude angered me. I reminded him that the PM has asked me to perform this task, this necessary duty for my country. I always do my duty. Furthermore, Sir Mark believes that there are votes in it and, if so, I certainly do not intend to look a gift horse in the mouth.

‘I put it to you,’ replied Sir Humphrey, ‘that you are looking a Trojan Horse in the mouth.’

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by this. ‘Do you mean,’ I asked, ‘that if we look closely at this gift horse we’ll find it’s full of Trojans?’

Bernard tried to interrupt, but I silenced him with a look. Sir Humphrey insisted that he be given a chance to prove his point, and offered to arrange a meeting, a preliminary discussion, with Under-Secretaries from the Department of Transport — the Road Division, the Rail Division and the Air Transport Division. ‘I think it may illustrate the extent of some of the problems you will encounter.’

‘You can arrange it if you like,’ I told him. ‘But I intend to take this on. If I succeed this could be my Falkland Islands.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Sir Humphrey, ‘and you could be General Galtieri.’

August 15th

When I arrived in my office today I found the most curious memo from Bernard sitting on my desk.

Aug. 12th

CONFIDENTIAL, FOR THE MINISTER’S EYES ONLY

With reference to your comment at today’s meeting with the Permanent Secretary at which you enquired, in connection with looking the Integrated Transport Policy gift horse in the mouth, whether, if the gift horse were a Trojan Horse (as suggested by the Permanent Secretary that so it might prove to be) it would be full of Trojans.

May I respectfully draw the Minister’s attention to the fact that, if he had looked the Trojan Horse in the mouth, he would have found Greeks inside.

The reason, of course, is that it was the Greeks who gave the Trojan Horse to the Trojans. Therefore, technically it was not a Trojan Horse at all. In fact, it was a Greek Horse. Hence the tag ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes’, which, as the Minister will recall, is usually and somewhat inaccurately translated as Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts, or doubtless the Minister would recall had he not attended the LSE.

B.W.

I dictated a reply to Bernard, in which I said that Greek tags are all very interesting in their way, especially to classicists no doubt, but that they were not exactly central to government business.

I added that presumably the modern EEC version of that tag would be Beware of Greeks Bearing An Olive Oil Surplus.

(Rather good that. I must remember to use it next time I have to make an anti-EEC speech.)

To my astonishment, I found yet another memo from Bernard in my red boxes tonight, shortly before writing this entry in my diary. He really is tireless in his pursuit of pointless pedantry.

Aug. 15th

With reference to your memorandum in reply to my memorandum on the subject of classical tags, your description of the tag Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts as a Greek tag is, of course, erroneous.

Just as the Trojan Horse was Greek, the tag which you described as Greek was, in fact, Latin. In fact, this is obvious if you consider that the Greeks would hardly suggest bewaring of themselves — if one can use such a participle: bewaring, that is — and the tag can clearly be seen to be Latin rather than Greek not because ‘timeo’ ends in ‘o’ (because the Greek first person also ends in ‘o’) — actually, if I may digress, there is a Greek word ‘timao’ meaning ‘I honour’ — but because the ‘os’ ending is a nominative singular termination of the second declension in Greek and an accusative plural in Latin.

Incidentally, as a fine point of interest, Danaos is not only the Greek for Greek but also the Latin for Greek.

B.W.

I shall preserve Bernard’s memos for posterity. They give a clear indication of how academic brilliance can mislead those who recruit administrative trainees into the Civil Service.

[A few days later Hacker, Appleby and Bernard Woolley were present at the promised meeting with three Department of Transport Under-Secretaries — Ed.]

August 17th

We have had a most extraordinary meeting today, the one that Humphrey had promised to arrange with the Under-Secretaries from the Department of Transport.

I can’t remember all their names, but each one was from a different division — one from Air, one from Road and one from Rail. It was extraordinarily acrimonious. The one thing that they were all agreed on was that, somehow, my proposals were deeply misguided.

The man from Road Transport, Graham something or other, suggested that it should be government policy to designate road haulage as its own principal means of freight transport. He was promptly interrupted by Richard somebody with a rather irritable thin tired-looking creased face — not surprising when you consider he’s been trying to modernise the railways and battle with BR, the NUR and ASLEF for most of his career.

‘With the greatest possible respect, Minister, I think that such a policy would be, not to put too fine a point on it, unacceptably short-sighted. It is rail transport that must surely be the favoured carrier under any sane national policy.’

Piers, a smooth fellow from Air, interrupted so fast that he scarcely gave himself time to utter his usual courteous but meaningless preamble. ‘If-I-might-crave-your-indulgence-for-a-moment-Minister, I have to say that both those proposals are formulae for disaster. Long-term considerations absolutely mandate the expansion of air freight to meet rising demand.’

Graham (Roads) put down his pencil, with a sharp click as it hit my mahogany reproduction conference table. ‘Of course,’ he snapped, ‘if the Minister is prepared for a massive budget increase…’

‘If the Minister will accept a long and unbelievably bitter rail strike…’ interrupted Richard (Rail).

And Piers butted in: ‘If the public can tolerate a massive rise in public discontent…’

I interrupted them by holding up my hand. They then confined themselves to staring at each other with intense mutual hostility.

‘Hold on, hold on,’ I said. ‘We’re the government, aren’t we?’

‘Indeed you are, Minister,’ Sir Humphrey corrected me.

‘So,’ I continued, searching for agreement, ‘we’re all on the same side, aren’t we?’

‘Indeed we are/quite so/absolutely no question,’ replied Richard, Piers and Graham roughly in concert.

‘And,’ I went on patiently, ‘we are trying to find out what’s best for Britain.’

Piers put up his hand. I nodded at him. ‘Through the chair,’ he said, ‘I hardly think the end of the national air freight business is best for Britain?’

Our truce had lasted a mere twenty seconds. The war was on again. ‘I find it hard to see how Britain is saved by the destruction of the railways,’ Richard remarked bitterly.

And Graham, not to be outdone, added with heavy sarcasm that it was not immediately apparent to him how Britain would benefit from a rapid deterioration of the road network.

Again I took a lead. I explained that I was merely trying to examine a few policy options for the government’s own freight transport needs. And that therefore I had thought that a preliminary chat with a few friends, advisers, around the table, could lead to some positive, constructive suggestions.

I should not have wasted my breath. The positive constructive suggestions were somewhat predictable. Richard promptly suggested a firm commitment to rail transport, Graham a significant investment in motorway construction, and Piers a meaningful expansion of air freight capacity!

So at this point I explained that my overall brief is, among other things, to achieve an overall cut in expenditure.

‘In that case,’ said Richard grimly, ‘there is only one possible course.’

‘Indeed there is,’ snapped Graham.

‘And there can be no doubt what it is,’ Piers added in an icy tone.

They all eyed each other, and me. I was stuck. Sir Humphrey came to the rescue.

‘Good,’ he said with a cheerful smile, ‘I always like to end a meeting on a note of agreement. Thank you, gentlemen.’

And they filed out.

The meeting is the sort that would be described in a communiqué as ‘frank’. Or even ‘frank, bordering on direct’, which means that the cleaners have to mop up the blood in the morning.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:[51]

The Minister found his meeting with the three Under-Secretaries confusing. This was because of his failure to understand the role of the Civil Service in making policy.

The three Under-Secretaries whom we met that morning were, in effect, counsel briefed by the various transport interests to resist any aspects of government policy that might have been unfavourable to their clients.

This is how the Civil Service in the 1980s actually worked in practice. In fact, all government departments — which in theory collectively represented the government to the outside world — in fact lobbied the government on behalf of their own client pressure group. In other words, each Department of State was actually controlled by the people whom it was supposed to be controlling.

Why — for instance — had we got comprehensive education throughout the UK? Who wanted it? The pupils? The parents? Not particularly.

The actual pressure came from the National Union of Teachers, who were the chief client of the DES.[52] So the DES went comprehensive.

Every Department acted for the powerful sectional interest with whom it had a permanent relationship. The Department of Employment lobbied for the TUC, whereas the Department of Industry lobbied for the employers. It was actually rather a nice balance: Energy lobbied for the oil companies, Defence lobbied for the armed forces, the Home Office for the police, and so on.

In effect, the system was designed to prevent the Cabinet from carrying out its policy. Well, somebody had to.

Thus a national transport policy meant fighting the whole of the Civil Service, as well as the other vested interests.

If I may just digress for a moment or two, this system of ‘checks and balances’, as the Americans would call it, makes nonsense of the oft-repeated criticism that the Civil Service was right wing. Or left wing. Or any other wing. The Department of Defence, whose clients were military, was — as you would expect — right wing. The DHSS, on the other hand, whose clients were the needy, the underprivileged and the social workers, was (predictably) left wing. Industry, looking after the Employers, was right wing — and Employment (looking after the unemployed, of course) was left wing. The Home Office was right wing, as its clients were the Police, the Prison Service and the Immigration chaps. And Education, as I’ve already remarked, was left wing.

You may ask: What were we at the DAA? In fact, we were neither right nor left. Our main client was the Civil Service itself, and therefore our real interest was in defending the Civil Service against the Government.

Strict constitutional theory holds that the Civil Service should be committed to carrying out the Government’s wishes. And so it was, as long as the Government’s wishes were practicable. By which we meant, as long as we thought they were practicable. After all, how else can you judge?

[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]

August 19th

Today Humphrey and I discussed Wednesday’s meeting.

And it was now clear to me that I had to get out of the commitment that I had made. Quite clearly, Transport Supremo is a title that’s not worth having.

I said to Humphrey that we had to find a way to force the PM’s hand.

‘Do you mean “we” plural — or do Supremos now use the royal pronoun?’

He was gloating. So I put the issue to him fair and square. I explained that I meant both of us, unless he wanted the DAA to be stuck with this problem.

As Humphrey clearly had no idea at all how to force the PM’s hand, I told him how it’s done. If you have to go for a politician’s jugular, go for his constituency.

I told Bernard to get me a map and the local municipal directory of the PM’s constituency.

Humphrey was looking puzzled. He couldn’t see what I was proposing to do. But I had to put it to him in acceptably euphemistic language. ‘Humphrey,’ I said, ‘I need your advice. Is it possible that implementing a national transport policy could have unfortunate local repercussions? Necessary, of course, in the wider national interest but painful to the borough affected!’

He caught on at once. ‘Ah. Yes indeed, Minister,’ he replied. ‘Inevitable, in fact.’ And he brightened up considerably.

‘And if the affected borough was represented in the House by a senior member of the government — a very senior member of the government — the most senior member of the government…?’

Humphrey nodded gravely. ‘Embarrassing,’ he murmured. ‘Deeply embarrasing.’ But his eyes were gleaming.

In due course Bernard obtained the street map of the PM’s constituency, and a street directory, and he found a relevant section in the business guide too. Once we studied the map, it was all plain sailing!

First we found a park. Humphrey noticed that it was near the railway station, and reminded me that one requirement of a national transport policy is to bring bus stations nearer to railway stations.

So, with deep regret, I made my first recommendation: Build a bus station on Queen Charlotte’s Park. Someone has to suffer in the national interest, alas!

Second, we found a reference to a big bus repair shop, in the street directory. It seemed to us that it would be more economical to integrate bus and train repairs. There would undoubtedly be a great saving. So our second recommendation was Close the bus repair shop.

Then it struck me that the PM’s constituency is in commuter country. And we know, of course, that commuter trains run at a loss. They are only really used at rush hours. This means that commuters are, in effect, subsidised.

‘Is this fair?’ I asked Humphrey. He agreed that this was indeed an injustice to non-commuters. So we made our third recommendation: Commuters to pay full economic fares.

Sadly this will double the price of commuter tickets, but you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.[53]

Humphrey noted that the PM’s constituency contained several railway stations — British Rail as well as the Underground. He reminded me that some people take the view that areas with reasonable rail services don’t need an evening bus service as well. I regard this as an extremely persuasive view. Accordingly, we made our fourth recommendation. Stop all bus services after 6.30 p.m.

We then moved on to consider what to do with all the remaining land after the removal of the bus station into the park.

We had to rack our brains on this matter for a while, but eventually we realised that the whole area seemed very short of parking space for container lorries. Especially at night. So fifth we recommended: Container lorry park on bus station site.

Regretfully, on closer study, the map revealed that building a new container lorry park would mean widening the access road. Indeed, it appears that the western half of the swimming baths might have to be filled in. But we could see no alternative: Widen the access road to the bus station site was our sixth and last recommendation.

We sat back and considered our list of recommendations. These had nothing whatever to do with the PM personally, of course. They were simply the local consequences of the broad national strategy.

However, I decided to write a paper which would be sent to Number Ten for the PM’s personal attention. The PM would undoubtedly wish to be informed of the constituency implications and as a loyal Minister and dutiful colleague I owe this to the PM. Among other things!

Humphrey raised one other area of concern. ‘It would be awful, Minister, if the press got hold of all this. After all, lots of other boroughs are likely to be affected. There’d be a national outcry.’

I asked if he thought there was any danger of the press getting hold of the story.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘they’re very clever at getting hold of things like this. Especially if there’s lots of copies.’

A good point. Humphrey’s a bloody nuisance most of the time, but I must say that he’s a good man to have on your side in a fight.

‘Oh dear,’ I replied. ‘This is a problem, because I’ll have to copy all my Cabinet colleagues with this note. Their constituencies are bound to be affected as well, of course.’

Humphrey reassured me on this point. He said that we must hope for the best. If it were leaked, with all those copies, no one could ever discover who leaked it. And as it happened, he was lunching today with Peter Martell of The Times.

I found this very reassuring.

I told him not to do anything that I wouldn’t do. He told me that I could rely on him.

I’m sure I can.

I wonder how he got on.

[Sir Humphrey’s account of lunch with Peter Martell has been found in his private diary — Ed.]

Lunched with the chap from Printing House Square, and mentioned the recent rumours of the integrated national transport policy.

His first reaction was one of boredom with this hoary old chestnut. Quite a natural reaction, really. But he became interested when I hinted of the rumours that the policy may have several unwelcome side-effects.

Job loss from integration of the railway terminals.

Job loss from joint repair shops.

Job loss from streamlining of services.

Reduction of bus and train services — causing job loss.

Peter realised that this could be rather a large story, especially in view of the rumours that one of the areas to suffer most will be the PM’s own constituency. I can’t imagine how these rumours got around.

He asked for hard facts, and I admonished him. He persisted, explaining to me that newspapers are not like the Government — if they make statements they have to be able to prove that they are true.

He pressed me for news of a White Paper or a Green Paper. I gave no help. But I did have to confirm that there is in existence a confidential note from Hacker to the PM with similar notes to all twenty-one of his Cabinet colleagues.

‘Oh that’s all right then,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Are you going to show it to me or shall I get it from one of your colleagues?’

I reproved him. I explained that it was a confidential document. It would be grossly improper to betray it to anyone, let alone a journalist.

The only way he could possibly obtain a copy of such a document would be if somebody left it lying around by mistake. The chances of that happening are remote, of course.

[It seems, from Sir Humphrey’s account, that he even wrote his private diary in such a way as to prevent it being used as evidence against him. But Peter Martell’s subsequent publication of the full details of the confidential note, only one day later, suggests that Sir Humphrey had carelessly left his own copy lying around — Ed.]

August 22nd

Humphrey did his job well. The full disclosure of my seven-point plan for the Prime Minister’s constituency appeared in The Times on Saturday. I must say I had a jolly good laugh about it. By 10.30 a.m. I’d received the expected summons for a chat with Sir Mark Spencer at Number Ten. (The PM’s still abroad.)

I went this morning, and M.S. came straight to the point.

‘I thought I ought to tell you that the PM isn’t very pleased.’ He waved Saturday’s Times at me. ‘This story.’

I agreed with him heartily. ‘Yes, absolutely shocking. I wasn’t pleased either.’

‘There’s obviously been a leak,’ he murmured, eyeing me.

‘Terrible. Can’t trust any of my Cabinet colleagues nowadays.’

This wholehearted agreement threw him momentarily off guard, I think. ‘Who are you saying it was?’ he asked.

I lowered my voice and explained that I wouldn’t want to name names, but as for one or two of my Cabinet colleagues… well! I left it at that. Looks speak louder than words sometimes.

He didn’t want to leave it there. ‘But what are you suggesting?’

I immediately backtracked. I was enjoying myself hugely. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it may not have been one of them, of course. I did send the paper here to Number Ten — could there be a leak here somewhere, do you think?’

Sir M. was not amused. ‘The PM’s office does not leak.’

‘Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘Perish the thought.’

We all leak of course. That’s what the lobby correspondents are there for. However, we all prefer to call it ‘flying a kite.’

Sir Mark continued. ‘It wasn’t only the fact of the leak that was disturbing. It was the implications of the proposals.’

I agreed that the implications were indeed disturbing, which was why I had written a special paper for the PM. National transport policies are bound to have disturbing implications. He disagreed. He insisted that the Transport Policy will not have such implications.

‘It will,’ I said.

‘It won’t,’ he said. Such is the intellectual cut and thrust to be found at the centre of government.

‘Didn’t you read what it said?’ I asked.

‘What it said is not what it will be,’ he replied very firmly. ‘I thought perhaps you’d like to see this.’ And he handed me a newspaper, one of the London suburban weeklies.

It was the local paper from the PM’s constituency.

This was certainly news to me.

‘I’ve had no directive from the PM,’ I said.

‘You have now.’ What a curious way to get a directive from the PM. ‘I’m afraid this leak, whoever it comes from, is a verbatim report of a confidential minute dictated by the Prime Minister in Ottawa. So it looks as though the national transport policy will need some rethinking, doesn’t it?’

This leak was a skilful counter-move by the PM. I started to explain to Sir Mark that rethinking the policy would be difficult, but he interrupted me unceremoniously.

‘I think the PM’s view is that Ministers are there to do difficult jobs. Assuming that they wish to remain as Ministers.’

Tough talk. I got the message.

I hastened to assure him that if the policy needed rethinking then I would rethink it until it was well and truly rethought.

Before I left I asked him how the leak had got into the paper. The PM’s own local paper. He assured me that he had no idea, but that the PM’s office does not leak.

‘Shocking, though, isn’t it?’ he added. ‘You can’t trust anyone nowadays.’

August 23rd

Another meeting with Humphrey. We appeared to be back to square one.

I was somewhat downcast, as I still appeared to be landed with this ghastly job. To my surprise Humphrey was in good spirits.

‘It’s all going excellently, Minister,’ he explained. ‘We shall now produce the other kind of non-proposal.’

I asked him what he had in mind.

‘The high-cost high-staff kind of proposal. We now suggest a British National Transport Authority, with a full structure of Regional Boards, Area Councils, local offices, liaison committees — the lot. Eighty thousand staff, and a billion pounds a year budget.’

‘The Treasury will have a fit,’ I said.

‘Precisely. And the whole matter will certainly be handed back to the Department of Transport.’

I was entranced. I asked him to do me a paper with full staff and costing details and a specimen annual budget.

He was way ahead of me. He immediately produced the very document from his folder. ‘And there’s a one-page summary on the front,’ he smiled smugly. Well, he was entitled to be smug!

I told him he was wonderful. He told me it was nothing.

I sat back and glanced through the proposal. It was splendid stuff.

‘My goodness,’ I reflected, ‘if the press were to get hold of this… eh?’

Humphrey smiled. ‘They’ll soon be setting up another leak enquiry.’

Bernard was immediately anxious. ‘Not really?’

‘Bound to.’

‘But… wouldn’t that be embarrassing?’

I was surprised to see that Bernard didn’t know the rules of the leak enquiry game. Leak enquiries are never embarrassing because they never actually happen. Leak enquiries are for setting up, not for actually conducting. Members may be appointed, but they hardly ever meet more than once. They certainly never report.

I asked Bernard, ‘How many leak enquiries can you recall that named the culprit?’

‘In round figures,’ added Humphrey.

Bernard thought for a moment. ‘Well, if you want it in round figures…’ He thought again. ‘None.’

The right answer. They can’t report. For two reasons:

If the leak came from a civil servant it’s not fair to publish it. The politicians are supposed to take the rap, that’s what they’re there for.

If the leak came from a politician it’s not safe to publish it, because he will then promptly disclose all the other leaks he knows of that came from his Cabinet colleagues.

I explained all this to Bernard.

Then Humphrey chimed in. ‘There’s a third reason. The most important of all. The main reason why it’s too dangerous to publish the results of an enquiry is because most leaks come from Number Ten. The ship of state is the only ship that leaks from the top.’

Humphrey was quite right, of course. Since the problem, more often than not, is a leaky PM — as in this case — it’s not easy to get the evidence and impossible to publish it if you do.

And by a curious coincidence, a journalist arrived to see me this very morning, shortly after our meeting. Humphrey, most considerately, left a spare copy of our latest high-cost proposal lying around on my desk. I’m awfully absent-minded, I’m always leaving bits of paper lying around, forgetting where I put them — the upshot was that after the journalist had left my office I couldn’t find my spare copy anywhere. Extraordinary!

August 25th

It all came to a head today.

Humphrey and I were summoned — together this time — to a meeting at Number Ten. We were ushered into the Cabinet Secretary’s office, where Sir Arnold and Sir Mark sat at the far end of a very long room. I think they were trying to intimidate us. But Humphrey and I are made of sterner stuff.

We greeted them cheerfully, and I sat in one of the armchairs in the conversation area. As a Minister of the Crown they were all my servants (nominally, at least) so they could not insist on a desk-bound interview. At my suggestion they joined me in Sir Arnold’s armchairs. But he opened the batting. ‘Another leak,’ he said. ‘This is extremely serious.’

‘There has indeed been another leak,’ I agreed. ‘I can’t think how it occurred! Our high-cost proposal was all over this morning’s papers.’

Humphrey and I agreed earnestly that this new leak was indeed extremely serious.

‘It is almost approaching a disciplinary level,’ said Sir Arnold.

‘I do agree,’ I said, ‘don’t you, Humphrey?’

He nodded emphatically. ‘Indeed, if only one could find the culprits it would be a most serious matter for them.’

Sir Mark piped up. He said he could help with that. He thought that if he were to use his influence he could achieve a disclosure from The Times of how they got hold of our original transport plans.

I shook Humphrey up a bit by offering to help further.

‘Are you sure, Minister?’ He sounded a warning note.

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘In fact I’m confident that I could find out how the press got hold of the leak about the Prime Minister’s opposition to our original plans. Of course, if it transpires that the PM’s own office leaks, then that would be even more serious than a leak in a cabinet minister’s private office, wouldn’t it? The security implications alone…’

I let that threat hang in the air, and sat back.

‘Ah,’ said Sir Mark.

There was a pause while everyone thought and rethought their positions. I felt I had the initiative, so I continued: ‘In fact, perhaps we ought to bring in the police or MI5 — after all, the implications of a leak at Number Ten are really very serious indeed.’

Arnold fought back. ‘Nevertheless, our first priority must be to investigate the original leak.’ He tried to insist.

I contradicted him flatly. ‘No. Our first priority must be to track down the leak involving the PM.’

He really couldn’t argue with that. And he didn’t. He just sat in silence and looked at me. So after a moment, having won the Battle of the Leak Enquiries, I turned to the matter of the Transport Policy.

‘At all events,’ I said, summing up the situation, ‘you will appreciate that the public outcry in response to all these leaks makes it very difficult for me to develop a national transport policy within the DAA.’

Sir Humphrey agreed vigorously. ‘The time is unripe. The climate is unpropitious. The atmosphere is unfavourable.’

‘And,’ I nodded, ‘the only two lines of approach are now blocked.’

Again there was a silence. Again Arnold and Mark stared at me. Then they stared at each other. Defeat stared at them both. Finally Sir Arnold resigned himself to the inevitable.

But he tried to put as good a face on it as he could. He raised the oldest idea as if it were the latest inspiration. ‘I wonder,’ he addressed himself to Sir Mark, ‘if it might not be wiser to take the whole matter back to the Department of Transport?’

I seized on the suggestion. ‘Now that, Arnold,’ I said, flattering him fulsomely, ‘is a brilliant idea.’

‘I wish I’d thought of that,’ said Humphrey wistfully.

So we were all agreed.

But Sir Mark was still worried. ‘There remains the question of the leaks,’ he remarked.

‘Indeed there does,’ I agreed. ‘And in my view we should treat this as a matter of utmost gravity. So I have a proposal.’

‘Indeed?’ enquired Sir Arnold.

‘Will you recommend to the PM,’ I said, in my most judicial voice, ‘that we set up an immediate leak enquiry?’

Sir Arnold, Sir Mark and Sir Humphrey responded in grateful unison. ‘Yes Minister,’ replied the three knights.