The Complete Yes Minister

5 The Writing on the Wall

January 18th

The help that I received from Tom Sargent in the matter of the National Data Base might seem unusual to those who are outside the extraordinary world of politics. Strange though it may seem to those members of the public who read numerous abusive speeches in which members of the two main political parties revile each other as incompetent, dishonest, criminally stupid and negligent, cross-party friendships are extremely common. In fact, it is much easier to be friends with a member of the opposite party than a member of one’s own party — for one is not in direct personal competition for office with members of the Opposition in the way that one is with one’s colleagues.

All my Cabinet colleagues and I were naturally in bitter competition with each other during our years in Opposition. In the last three months we’ve all been so busy trying to deal with the real opposition — the Civil Service — that we’ve not had any real time to do-down each other. But I have a hunch, from the recent atmosphere in Cabinet, that some political manoeuvring is in the air again.

There are still numerous other matters concerning me, about which I have also had a little time to reflect this weekend. I realised early on (in my first week as a Minister, in fact) that Open Government presents real problems. It was made clear to me that if people stop having secrets they stop having power.

In fact, paradoxically, government is more open when it is less open. Open Government is rather like the live theatre: the audience gets a performance. And it gives a response. But, like the theatre, in order to have something to show openly there must first be much hidden activity. And all sorts of things have to be cut or altered in rehearsals, and not shown to the public until you have got them right.

The drawback with all this is that it begs the question — which is that the Civil Service keeps secrets from Ministers. They say they don’t, but I’m sure they do. I’m now all in favour of keeping secrets from the public of course, for the reasons I’ve just given, but it should be my privilege, as the people’s elected representative, to decide when to keep the people in ignorance. It should not be up to the Civil Service to keep me in ignorance.

Unfortunately, it is pretty hard to get this across to them.

I have also learned a few general lessons. I must never show my hopes or fears to Humphrey, if I can avoid it — especially party fears. If you give away your political weaknesses, they’ll destroy you. You have to keep them guessing.

I now realise that I should always get civil servants to commit themselves first. Never say, ‘I think…’, but always say, ‘What do you think…?’

I’ve also learned about ‘yes’ and ‘no’. You can always turn a ‘no’ into a ‘yes’ — but not vice versa. Furthermore, when you say ‘no’, let the Private Office say it for you — but when you say ‘yes’, pre-empt the Private Office and phone up yourself. That way, they get the blame and I get the credit.

In fact, the point about making your own phone calls is crucial. The whole system is designed to prevent you from doing anything yourself. As far as the Civil Service is concerned, you must never make a phone call, or sort out a problem. Woe betide any Minister who lifts the phone to try to sort out a foreign trade deal, for instance. Civil servants will come at you from all sides mouthing phrases like, ‘it’s an FCO matter… correct channels… policy hangs by a thread… you do realise, don’t you?… what if something were to go wrong?… on your head be it, Minister!’ and many others.

This is all very squashing to the morale of an important public figure such as myself. If you’re not careful they’ll eventually have you in such a state that you’ll be frightened to phone Potters Bar.

Furthermore, everything that one does is carefully watched and supervised. Bernard listens in to all my phone calls, except the ones that I make on the private line. The theory is that he can make useful notes on my behalf, and is fully informed about my views and activities — true! But, as we know, information is a double-edged sword. [It’s no accident that most of the really powerful offices in the world are called ‘Secretary’ — Secretary of State, Permanent Secretary, General Secretary, Party Secretary, etc. ‘Secretary’ means the person who is entrusted with the secrets, the information no one else knows — the élite — Ed.]

I must say, though, that I find it an invaluable way to pass on criticism of my permanent officials, knowing that Bernard is listening in to my every word!

Tonight, in one of my red boxes, there is a third redraft of a report to the Think-Tank on Civil Service overmanning. [‘Think-Tank’ was the colloquial name of the Central Policy Review Staff — Ed.] I’m still not pleased with it. I shall have a lot of questions to ask about it tomorrow morning.

January 19th

We had a meeting about the Think-Tank report. I told Humphrey that I still wasn’t happy with it, and he obligingly offered to redraft it.

This hardly seems to be the answer. I pointed out that he had redrafted it three times already.

Bernard argued about this. ‘That’s not quite correct, Minister.’

I told him I could count. And that this was the third draft. ‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘It has been drafted once and redrafted twice.’ A typical piece of boring pedantic quibbling. Bernard has an idiotic obsession about using language with accuracy — it’s fortunate he’s not in politics.

I told him not to quibble, and Humphrey said placatingly he would be happy to redraft the report a third time. Of course he would. And a fourth time, and a fifth no doubt. ‘And a sixth,’ I went on. ‘But it still won’t say what I want it to say, it will say what you want it to say. And I want it to say what I want it to say.’

‘What do you want it to say?’ asked Bernard.

‘We want it to say what you want it to say,’ murmured Humphrey soothingly.

‘I’m sure,’ wittered Bernard, ‘that the Department doesn’t want you to say something that you don’t want to say.’

I tried again. For the fourth time in as many weeks I explained the position. ‘Six weeks ago the Think-Tank asked for our evidence on Civil Service overmanning. Three times I have briefed a group of civil servants in words of one syllable — and each time I get back a totally unintelligible draft which says the exact opposite of what I have told them to say.’

‘With respect, Minister,’ countered Sir Humphrey (untruthfully), ‘how do you know it says the opposite if it is totally unintelligible?’ He really is the master of the irrelevant question-begging answer.

‘All I want to say,’ I explained plaintively, ‘is that the Civil Service is grossly overmanned and must be slimmed down.’

‘I’m sure we all want to say that,’ lied my Permanent Secretary. ‘And that is what the report says.’

‘No it doesn’t.’

‘Yes it does.’

Then we said, ‘Oh no, it doesn’t,’ ‘Oh yes, it does,’ ‘Oh no, it doesn’t,’ at each other for a while. Then I quoted phrases from the draft report at him. It says, for instance, that a phased reduction of about a hundred thousand people is ‘not in the public interest’. Translation: it is in the public interest but it is not in the interest of the Civil Service. ‘Public opinion is not yet ready for such a step,’ it says. Translation: Public opinion is ready but the Civil Service is not! Then it goes on: ‘However, this is an urgent problem and we therefore propose setting up a Royal Commission.’ Translation: This problem is a bloody nuisance, but we hope that by the time a Royal Commission reports, four years from now, everyone will have forgotten about it or we can find someone else to blame.

[Hacker was beginning to understand Civil Service code language. Other examples are:

‘I think we have to be very careful.’ Translation: We are not going to do this.

‘Have you thought through all the implications?’ Translation: You are not going to do this.

‘It is a slightly puzzling decision.’ Translation: Idiotic!

‘Not entirely straightforward.’ Translation: Criminal.

‘With the greatest possible respect, Minister…’ Translation: Minister, that is the silliest idea I’ve ever heard — Ed.]

Humphrey could see no way out of this impasse. ‘Minister, I can only suggest that we redraft it.’ Brilliant!

‘Humphrey,’ I said, ‘will you give me a straight answer to a straight question?’

This question took him completely by surprise, and he stopped to think for a brief moment.

‘So long as you are not asking me to resort to crude generalisations or vulgar over-simplifications, such as a simple yes or no,’ he said, in a manner that contrived to be both openly ingenuous and deeply evasive, ‘I shall do my utmost to oblige.’

‘Do you mean yes?’ I asked.

A fierce internal struggle appeared to be raging within. ‘Yes,’ he said finally.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Here is the straight question.’

Sir Humphrey’s face fell. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I thought that was it.’

I persevered. ‘Humphrey, in your evidence to the Think-Tank, are you going to support my view that the Civil Service is overmanned and feather-bedded or not? Yes or no! Straight answer!’

Could I have put this question any more plainly? I don’t think so. This was the reply: ‘Minister, if I am pressed for a straight answer I shall say that, as far as we can see, looking at it by and large, taking one thing with another, in terms of the average of departments, then in the last analysis it is probably true to say that, at the end of the day, you would find, in general terms that, not to put too fine a point on it, there really was not very much in it one way or the other.’

While I was still reeling from this, he added, no doubt for further clarification, ‘As far as one can see, at this stage.’

I made one last attempt. ‘Does that mean yes or no?’ I asked, without much hope.

‘Yes and no,’ he replied helpfully.

‘Suppose,’ I said, ‘suppose you weren’t asked for a straight answer?’

‘Ah,’ he said happily, ‘then I should play for time, Minister.’

Humphrey’s never going to change. I certainly will never change him. Today I got nowhere fast. No, not even fast — I got nowhere, slowly and painfully! The conversation finished with Humphrey suggesting that I take the draft home and study it for the next couple of days, because I might then find that it does indeed say what I want it to say. An idiotic time-wasting suggestion, of course. He’s just trying to wear me down.

‘And if it doesn’t say what I want it to say?’ I asked testily.

Sir Humphrey smiled. ‘Then we shall be happy to redraft it for you, Minister,’ he said.

Back to square one.

January 20th

I have thought about yesterday’s events very carefully. I do not propose to give this draft back to the Department for any more redrafting. I shall write it myself, and not return it until it is too late for them to change it.

I mentioned this to Bernard, and he thought it was a good idea. I told him in the strictest confidence, and I hope I can trust him. I’m sure I can.

[Hacker reckoned without the pressures that the Civil Service can apply to its own people. Sir Humphrey enquired about the fourth draft report several times over the next two weeks, and observed that Bernard Woolley was giving evasive answers. Finally, Bernard was invited for a disciplinary drink at Sir Humphrey’s Club in Pall Mall. We have found a memo about the meeting among Sir Humphrey’s private papers — Ed.]

B. W. came for a drink at the Club.

I questioned him about the Department’s Report to the Think-Tank.

He said, ‘You mean, the Minister’s report?’, a not-insignificant remark.

In answer to my questions as to why we had not yet had it returned to us, he suggested that I ask the Minister. A most unsatisfactory reply.

I explained that I had chosen to ask him. As he remained stubbornly silent, I observed that he did not seem to be replying.

‘Yes and no,’ he said. He knows full well that this is one of my favourite replies, and I felt obliged to tick him off for impertinence.

In answer to other questions, B.W. insisted that the Minister is doing his boxes conscientiously, but repeatedly refused to explain the delay over the draft report, merely advising me to enquire of the Minister as he (B.W.) was the Minister’s Private Secretary.

He appeared to be anxious about his situation, and clearly had been put under some obligation by the Minister to treat some piece of information in strict confidence. I therefore decided to increase his anxiety considerably, to the extent that he would be obliged to find a way of either satisfying both myself and his Minister, and therefore showing that he is worthy to be a flyer [‘High Flyer’ means young man destined for the very top of the Service — Ed.] or of taking one side or the other, thereby revealing an inability to walk a tightrope in a high wind.

I therefore reminded him that he was an employee of the DAA. And, admirable though it is to be loyal to his Minister, an average Minister’s tenure is a mere eleven months whereas Bernard’s career will, he hopes, last until the age of sixty.

B.W. handled the situation with skill. He opted for asking me a hypothetical question, always a good idea.

He asked me: If a purely hypothetical Minister were to be unhappy with a departmental draft of evidence to a committee, and if the hypothetical Minister were to be planning to replace it with his own hypothetical draft worked out with his own political advisers at his party HQ, and if this Minister was planning to bring in his own draft so close to the final date for evidence that there would be no time to redraft it, and if the hypothetical Private Secretary were to be aware of this hypothetical draft — in confidence — should the hypothetical Private Secretary pass on the information to the Perm. Sec. of the hypothetical Department?

A good question. Naturally, I answered B.W. by saying that no Private Secretary should pass on such information, if given in confidence.

B. W. shows more promise than I thought. [Appleby Papers 23/RPY/13c]

February 1st

It is now two weeks since I decided to take over the Think-Tank report. My final redraft is going well. Frank and his chaps have been hard at work on it, and I’ve been burning the midnight oil as well. The situation seems to be infuriating Humphrey, which gives me some considerable pleasure.

Today he again asked me about my redraft of the redraft of the draft. ‘What about the evidence to the Central Policy Review Staff?’ he said.

‘You mean the Think-Tank?’ I said playing for time.

‘Yes Minister.’

‘Why do you want it?’ I asked.

‘So that we can redraft it.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘I think it will, Minister.’

‘Humphrey,’ I said firmly, ‘drafting is not a Civil Service monopoly.’

‘It is a highly specialised skill,’ he replied, ‘which few people outside the Service can master.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘Drafts are easy. It’s a game anyone can play.’

‘Not without getting huffed,’ he answered. Actually, he’s quite witty, really.

I chuckled at his joke, and changed the subject. But he didn’t let me get away with it. ‘So can I have the draft back, please?’ he persisted.

‘Of course,’ I said, with a smile. He waited. In vain.

‘When, Minister?’ he asked, trying to smile back, but definitely through clenched teeth.

‘Later,’ I said airily.

‘But when?’ he snarled through his smile.

‘You always say we mustn’t rush things,’ I said irritatingly.

He then asked me for a straight answer! The nerve of it! However, as he had started to use my terminology, I answered him in his.

‘In due course, Humphrey.’ I was really enjoying myself. ‘In the fullness of time. At the appropriate juncture. When the moment is ripe. When the requisite procedures have been completed. Nothing precipitate, you understand.’

‘Minister,’ he said, losing all traces of good humour. ‘It is getting urgent.’

He was getting rattled. Great. My tactics were a triumph. ‘Urgent?’ I said blandly. ‘You are learning a lot of new words.’ I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so rude to anyone in my life. I was having a wonderful time. I must try it more often.

‘I hope you will forgive me for saying this,’ began Sir Humphrey in his iciest manner, ‘but I am beginning to suspect that you are concealing something from me.’

I feigned shock, surprise, puzzlement, ignorance — a whole mass of false emotions. ‘Humphrey!’ I said in my most deeply shocked voice, ‘surely we don’t have any secrets from each other?’

‘I’m sorry, Minister, but sometimes one is forced to consider the possibility that affairs are being conducted in a way which, all things being considered, and making all possible allowances, is, not to put too fine a point on it, perhaps not entirely straightforward.’ Sir Humphrey was insulting me in the plainest language he could manage in a crisis. Not entirely straightforward, indeed! Clearly, just as it’s against the rules of the House to call anyone a liar, it’s against the Whitehall code of conduct too.

So I decided to come clean at last. I told him that I have redrafted the redraft myself, that I’m perfectly happy with it, and that I don’t want him to redraft it again.

‘But…’ began Sir Humphrey.

‘No buts,’ I snapped. ‘All I get from the Civil Service is delaying tactics.’

‘I wouldn’t call Civil Service delays “tactics”, Minister,’ he replied smoothly. ‘That would be to mistake lethargy for strategy.’

I asked him if we hadn’t already set up a committee to investigate delays in the Civil Service. He concurred.

‘What happened to it?’ I asked.

‘Oh,’ he said, brushing the matter aside, ‘it hasn’t met yet.’

‘Why not?’ I wanted to know.

‘There… seems to have been a delay,’ he admitted.

It is vital that I make Humphrey realise that there is a real desire for radical reform in the air. I reminded him that the All-Party Select Committee on Administrative Affairs, which I founded, has been a great success.

This was probably an error, because he immediately asked me what it has achieved. I was forced to admit that it hasn’t actually achieved anything yet, but I pointed out that the party is very pleased by it.

‘Really?’ he asked. ‘Why?’

‘Ten column inches in the Daily Mail last Monday, for a start,’ I replied proudly.

‘I see,’ he said coldly, ‘the government is to measure its success in column inches, is it?’

‘Yes… and no,’ I said with a smile.

But he was deeply concerned about my redraft of the draft report.

‘Minister,’ he said firmly, ‘the evidence that you are proposing to submit is not only untrue, it is — which is much more serious — unwise.’ One of Humphrey’s most telling remarks so far, I think. ‘We have been through this before: the expanding Civil Service is the result of parliamentary legislation, not bureaucratic empire building.’

I begin to think that Sir Humphrey really believes this.

‘So,’ I said, ‘when this comes up at Question Time you want me to tell Parliament it’s their fault that the Civil Service is so big?’

‘It’s the truth, Minister,’ he insisted.

He can’t seem to grasp that I don’t want the truth, I want something I can tell Parliament.

I spelled it out to him. ‘Humphrey, you are my Permanent Secretary. Are you going to support me?’

‘We shall always support you as your standard-bearer, Minister — but not as your pall-bearer.’

There seemed to be a vaguely threatening air about these remarks. I demanded to know what he was actually saying. As I was becoming more and more heated, he was becoming icier and icier.

‘I should have thought,’ he pronounced, in his most brittle voice with excessive clarity of enunciation, somewhat reminiscent of Dame Edith Evans as Lady Bracknell, ‘that my meaning was crystal-clear. Do not give such a report to a body whose recommendations are to be published.’

As always, he has completely missed the point. I explained that it is because the report is to be published that I am submitting the evidence. I, the Minister, am to be the judge of when to keep secrets, not the permanent officials.

I appeared to have silenced him completely. Then, after a rather long pause for thought, he enquired if he might make one more suggestion.

‘Only if it’s in plain English,’ I replied.

‘If you must do this damn silly thing,’ he said, ‘don’t do it in this damn silly way.’

February 2nd

On the way to Number Ten this morning Bernard showed me the agenda for Cabinet. To my horror, I was informed that Cabinet was due to discuss my proposal to close down the Land Registry — or what was described as my proposal! I’d never heard of it till that moment. It is a scheme to transfer residual functions to the Property Services Agency. The idea is to reduce the number of autonomous government departments, in which there has been a 9¾% rise. Bernard told me I’d initialled it. God knows when — I suppose it must have been in a red box sometime over the last few weeks but I don’t recall it. I’ve been working on the Think-Tank report and nothing else for the last week or more. Anyway, I can’t remember every paper I struggle through at one or two a.m. — in fact, I can hardly remember any of them. There has to be a better system than this.

Bernard assured me that I didn’t really need to know much about the proposal because his information on the grapevine, through the Private Office network, was that the proposal would go through on the nod.

[Regrettably, this situation was not as uncommon as the reader might suppose. Because of both the pressure of time and the complexity of much legislation, Ministers frequently had to propose measures to Cabinet that they themselves either had not read or did not fully understand. Hence the distinction sometimes drawn between Ministerial policy, i.e. policies about which the Minister has strong personal views or commitments, and Ministry policy, i.e. most policy — Ed.]

February 3rd

Today was the blackest day so far. Perhaps not only the blackest day since I became a Minister, but the blackest day since I went into politics.

I am deeply depressed.

However, I feel I must record the events of the day, and I’ll do so in the order in which they occurred.

It appears that Sir Humphrey went to the usual weekly Permanent Secretaries’ meeting this morning. It seems that he was ticked off by a couple of his colleagues when he revealed that I had written the draft report for the Think-Tank.

Humphrey complained to Bernard about my behaviour, it seems, and Bernard — who seems to be the only one I can totally trust — told me. Apparently Sir Frederick Stewart (Perm. Sec. of the FCO) actually said to Humphrey that once you allow a Minister to write a draft report, the next thing you know they’ll be dictating policy.

Incredible!

It is true, of course. I have learned that he who drafts the document wins the day.

[This is the reason why it was common Civil Service practice at this time to write the minutes of a meeting BEFORE the meeting took place. This achieves two things. First, it helps the chairman or secretary to ensure that the discussion follows the lines agreed beforehand and that the right points are made by somebody. And second, as busy men generally cannot quite remember what was agreed at meetings, it is extremely useful and convenient to lay it down in advance. Only if the conclusions reached at a meeting are radically different or diametrically opposed to what has been previously written in the minutes will the officials have to rewrite them. Thus it is that pre-written minutes can dictate the results of many meetings, regardless of what may be said or agreed by those actually present — Ed.]

Sir Humphrey and Sir Frederick were discussing Humphrey’s plan (not mine, I may add!) for reducing the number of autonomous government departments, when they encountered Dr Donald Hughes,[9] who overheard their conversation.

Hughes revealed that the Think-Tank recommendation accepted the idea of reducing the number of autonomous government departments. This news came as a profound shock to Sir Humphrey, because not all the Ministerial evidence has been taken — ours, for instance, has not!

However, it seems that they have reported unofficially, and clearly the report is not going to change now, no matter what we say. Dr Hughes explained to Sir Humphrey that the Central Policy Review Staff do not sully their elevated minds with anything as squalid as evidence from Ministers!

Sir Humphrey, at first, was not unhappy with Donald Hughes’s news. Naturally, as an experienced civil servant, a proposal to reduce and simplify the administration of government conjured up in Humphrey’s mind a picture of a large intake of new staff specifically to deal with the reductions.

However, this is not the plan at all. Humphrey informed me, at an urgently convened meeting at nine a.m. this morning [Tautology — Ed.] that Dr Donald Hughes had made these points:

That Jim Hacker is always seeking to reduce overmanning in the Civil Service.

That he is going to succeed, at last.

And that to facilitate this matter, the Treasury, the Home Office and the Civil Service Department have all proposed abolishing the Department of Administrative Affairs.

And that ‘the PM is smiling on the plan’ (his very words).

Appalling! My job’s at stake.

It seems that the PM is entranced by the idea, on the grounds that it is neat, clean, dramatic, and will be politically popular.

The plan is that all the DAA’s functions will be subsumed by other departments.

And my fate? Apparently it is to be presented to the press and public that I have won through with a public-spirited self-sacrificing policy, and I’m to be kicked upstairs to the Lords.

Donald Hughes, rubbing salt in the wound, apparently described it as ‘approbation, elevation and castration, all in one stroke’. It seems he suggested that I should take the title Lord Hacker of Kamikaze.

Apparently Hughes was very pleased with himself, and with this plan, presumably because of his own crusade against Civil Service extravagance, bureaucracy and waste. Ironically, I agree with him on all that — but not at the expense of my job, thank you very much.

This certainly confirms my instincts, that some political Cabinet in-fighting was due to start up again, and clearly we have a huge fight on our hands. Everyone’s against us. The Perm. Secs of the Treasury, Home Office and Civil Service Department all stand to gain more power and influence. So do my Cabinet colleagues running those departments. And, of course, I always knew that the DAA was a political graveyard and that the PM might have been handing me a poisoned chalice — after all, I did run Martin’s leadership campaign against the PM — whose motto, incidentally, is ‘In Defeat, Malice — in Victory, Revenge!’

It seems that Donald Hughes, to do him justice, also pointed out that Humphrey would also be on the way out. ‘There’s a Job Centre in the Horseferry Road,’ he had said maliciously. ‘The number 19 stops right outside.’

This is the only remotely amusing thing I’ve heard in the last twenty-four hours. I shouldn’t think Humphrey’s been on a bus since he left Oxford.

So when Humphrey brought me up-to-date this morning, I was appalled. I could hardly believe it at first. I told Humphrey I was appalled.

‘You’re appalled?’ he said. ‘I’m appalled.’

Bernard said he was appalled, too.

And, there’s no doubt about it, the situation is appalling.

I have no doubt that the situation is as described by Sir Humphrey as described by Donald Hughes. It rings true. And Humphrey, yesterday, saw the joint Departmental proposal made by the Treasury, Home Office and Civil Service Department. And Hughes is very close to the PM too, so he must know what’s going on.

I asked Humphrey if I’d get another job, whether or not I was sent to the Lords. And, incidentally, I shall definitely refuse a peerage if it is offered.

‘There is a rumour,’ replied Sir Humphrey gravely, ‘of a new post. Minister with general responsibility for Industrial Harmony.’

This was the worst news yet. Industrial Harmony. That means strikes.[10]

From now on, every strike in Britain will be my fault. Marvellous!

I pondered this for some moments. My reverie was interrupted by Sir Humphrey enquiring in a sepulchral tone: ‘Have you considered what might happen to me, Minister? I’ll probably be sent to Ag. and Fish. The rest of my career dedicated to arguing about the cod quota.’

Bernard dared to smile a little smile, and Humphrey turned on him. ‘And as for you, young man, if your Minister bites the dust your reputation as a flyer — such as it is — will be hit for six. You’ll probably spend the rest of your career in the Vehicle Licensing Centre in Swansea.’

‘My God,’ said Bernard quietly.

We sat in silence, lost in our own tragic thoughts, for some considerable time. I heaved a sigh. So did Humphrey. Then Bernard.

Of course, the whole thing is Sir Humphrey’s fault. Reducing the number of autonomous government departments was an idiotic proposal, playing right into the hands of our enemies. I said so. He replied that it was all my fault, because of my proposal to the Think-Tank to carry out the phased reduction of the Civil Service.

I pooh-poohed this as a ridiculous suggestion because the Think-Tank hasn’t even seen our report yet. But Humphrey revealed that the Party sent an advance copy to the PM from Central House.

So perhaps we’ve both dropped ourselves in it. Anyway, there was no point in arguing about it, and I asked Humphrey for suggestions.

There was another gloomy silence.

‘We could put a paper up,’ he said finally.

‘Up what?’ I asked. Brilliant!

Humphrey asked me if I had any suggestions. I hadn’t. We turned to Bernard.

‘What do you think, Bernard?’

‘I think it’s appalling,’ he repeated. A lot of use he is.

Then Humphrey proposed that we work together on this. This was a novel suggestion, to say the least. I thought his job was to work with me on all occasions. This seemed like an admission. Furthermore, his idea of our working together is generally that he tells me what to do, and I then do it. And look where it’s got us!

However, I asked him what he had to suggest.

‘With respect, Minister,’ he began. This was too much. I told him not to use that insulting language to me ever again! Clearly he was about to imply that anything I had to say on the subject would be beneath contempt.

But Humphrey reiterated that he really meant that we should work together. ‘I need you,’ he said.

I must admit I was rather touched.

Then, to my utter astonishment, he suggested that we sent for Frank Weisel.

Humphrey is clearly a reformed character. Even though it’s probably too late to matter!

‘You see, Minister, if the Prime Minister is behind a scheme, Whitehall on its own cannot block it. Cabinet Ministers’ schemes are easily blocked…’ he corrected himself at once, ‘… redrafted, but the PM is another matter.’

In a nutshell, his scheme is to fight this plan in Westminster as well as Whitehall. Therefore he believes that Frank can help to mobilise the backbenchers on my behalf.

I suggested that Fleet Street might be of use, if Frank can get the press on our side. Humphrey blanched and swallowed, but to his credit agreed. ‘If there is no other way, even Fleet Street…’ he murmured.

February 4th

Frank was away yesterday. So we had the meeting with him today.

He’d just heard the news. We asked for his reaction. For the first time that I can remember, he was speechless. He just sat and shook his head sadly. I asked him what suggestions he had.

‘I can’t think of anything… I’m appalled,’ he replied.

We all agreed that it was appalling.

So I took charge. ‘We’ve got to stop flapping about like wet hens. We’ve got to do something to save the Department from closure. Frank, get through to the Whips’ office to mobilise the backbenchers and Central House, to stop this before it starts.’

‘I’m awfully sorry to quibble again, Minister, but you can’t actually stop things before they start,’ intervened Bernard, the wet-hen-in-chief. He’s really useless in a crisis.

Frank pointed out that this idea of mine wasn’t much good, as the scheme to abolish the DAA would probably be popular with backbenchers. So I pointed out that it was Humphrey’s idea, anyway.

Bernard’s overnight deliberations led him to propose a publicity campaign in the press, full-page ads praising the Department. He offered us some slogans: ADMINISTRATION SAVES THE NATION and RED TAPE IS FUN.

We just boggled at these ideas. So he then suggested RED TAPE HOLDS THE NATION TOGETHER.

Sometimes I really despair of Bernard.

There was a long pause, after which Humphrey remarked bleakly, ‘There’s no doubt about it, the writing’s on the wall.’

None of us can see any real hope of averting catastrophe.

It’s appalling!

February 5th

Life must go on, even while the Sword of Damocles hangs over us.

Today we had a meeting about the Europass. This was a completely new development. I’ve never even heard of it. Apparently there’s been information about it in my boxes for the last couple of nights, but I’ve been too depressed and preoccupied to grasp anything I’ve read.

It seems that the Europass is a new European Identity Card, to be carried by all citizens of the EEC. The FCO, according to Humphrey, is willing to go along with the idea as a quid pro quo for a settlement over the butter mountain, the wine lake, the milk ocean, the lamb war, and the cod stink.

Apparently the PM wants me to introduce the necessary legislation.

I’m horrified by this.

Sir Humphrey was surprised at my reaction. He’d thought it was a good idea as I’m known to be pro-Europe, and he thinks that a Europass will simplify administration in the long run.

Frank and I tried to explain to the officials that for me to introduce such a scheme would be political suicide. The British people do not want to carry compulsory identification papers. I’ll be accused of trying to bring in a police state, when I’m still not fully recovered from the fuss about the Data Base. ‘Is this what we fought two world wars for?’ I can hear the backbenchers cry.

‘But it’s nothing more than a sort of driving licence,’ said Humphrey.

‘It’s the last nail in my coffin,’ said I.

‘You might get away with calling it the Euroclub Express,’ said Bernard. I told him to shut up or get out.

Frank asked why we had to introduce it, not the FCO? A good question.

‘I understand,’ explained Humphrey, ‘that the PM did originally suggest that the FCO introduce the measure, but the Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs suggested that it was a Home Office measure, and then the Home Office took the view that it is essentially an administrative matter. The PM agreed.’

Frank said, ‘They’re all playing pass the parcel.’

Can you blame them, when they can hear it ticking?

Humphrey then observed mournfully that the identity card bill would probably be the last action of our Department.

Frank and I, unlike the civil servants, were still puzzled that such a proposal as the Europass could even be seriously under consideration by the FCO. We can both see clearly that it is wonderful ammunition for the anti-Europeans. I asked Humphrey if the Foreign Office doesn’t realise how damaging this would be to the European ideal?

‘I’m sure they do, Minister,’ he said. ‘That’s why they support it.’

This was even more puzzling, since I’d always been under the impression that the FO is pro-Europe. ‘Is it or isn’t it?’ I asked Humphrey.

‘Yes and no,’ he replied of course, ‘if you’ll pardon the expression. The Foreign Office is pro-Europe because it is really anti-Europe. In fact the Civil Service was united in its desire to make sure the Common Market didn’t work. That’s why we went into it.’

This sounded like a riddle to me. I asked him to explain further. And basically, his argument was as follows: Britain has had the same foreign policy objective for at least the last five hundred years — to create a disunited Europe. In that cause we have fought with the Dutch against the Spanish, with the Germans against the French, with the French and Italians against the Germans, and with the French against the Italians and Germans. [The Dutch rebellion against Philip II of Spain, the Napoleonic Wars, the First World War, and the Second World War — Ed.]

In other words, divide and rule. And the Foreign Office can see no reason to change when it has worked so well until now.

I was aware of all this, naturally, but I regarded it as ancient history. Humphrey thinks that it is, in fact, current policy. It was necessary for us to break up the EEC, he explained, so we had to get inside. We had previously tried to break it up from the outside, but that didn’t work. [A reference to our futile and short-lived involvement in EFTA, the European Free Trade Association, founded in 1960 and which the UK left in 1972 — Ed.] Now that we’re in, we are able to make a complete pig’s breakfast out of it. We have now set the Germans against the French, the French against the Italians, the Italians against the Dutch… and the Foreign Office is terribly happy. It’s just like old times.

I was staggered by all of this. I thought that all of us who are publicly pro-Europe believed in the European ideal. I said this to Sir Humphrey, and he simply chuckled.

So I asked him: if we don’t believe in the European ideal, why are we pushing to increase the membership?

‘Same reason,’ came the reply. ‘It’s just like the United Nations. The more members it has, the more arguments you can stir up, and the more futile and impotent it becomes.’

This all strikes me as the most appalling cynicism, and I said so.

Sir Humphrey agreed complacently. ‘Yes Minister. We call it diplomacy. It’s what made Britain great, you know.’

Frank, like the terrier that he is, wanted to continue worrying away at the problem of the Europass. ‘How will the other EEC countries feel about having to carry identity papers? Won’t they resist too?’

Sir Humphrey felt not. ‘The Germans will love it, the French will ignore it, and the Italians and Irish will be too chaotic to enforce it. Only the British will resent it.’ He’s right, of course.

I must say that, to me, it’s all beginning to look suspiciously like a plot to get rid of me. Frank doesn’t subscribe to a conspiracy theory on this occasion, on the grounds that I’m to be got rid of anyway as my department is to be abolished.

But I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that the PM just wants to make absolutely sure. Frank told me not to be paranoid, but I think he’d be paranoid if everyone were plotting against him.

‘We’re on your side, Minister.’ Sir Humphrey was trying to be comforting. Life is full of surprises!

Then I had an idea. I suddenly realised that Martin will be on my side. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it before. He’s Foreign Secretary — and, to my certain knowledge, Martin is genuinely pro-Europe. (Humphrey calls him ‘naïf’). Also I ran his campaign against the PM, and he only stands to lose if I’m squeezed out.

We’ve arranged a meeting with him on Monday, at the House. I can’t think how he can help, exactly, but between us we may find some lever.

February 8th

All is well. The battle is won. My career, Humphrey’s career, and the DAA have all been saved by a brilliant piece of political opportunism, of which I am extremely proud. Plus a little bit of luck, of course. But it’s been a very satisfactory day.

We all gathered conspiratorially at Martin’s office. He was full of his usual second-rate witticisms.

‘You’ve done a Samson act, Jim.’

I, presumably, looked blank.

‘You see, you wanted to reduce the Civil Service, and you’ve done it. You’ve pulled the whole superstructure down — and buried yourself.’

I didn’t know whether I was supposed to smile, or congratulate him on his wit, or what.

Sir Humphrey, of course, couldn’t wait to join the analogy game. ‘A Pyrrhic victory,’ he intoned mournfully, presumably to remind us all that he is a classicist.

‘Any ideas?’ I asked Martin.

He had none. So we all had another of our tremendous gloomy silences.

Frank, fortuitously as it turned out, continued worrying away at the puzzle of why the PM wanted to introduce a Europass. ‘I don’t understand it. It doesn’t make sense. Why can’t the PM see the damage it’s going to do to the government?’

I agreed, and remarked that this Europass thing is the worst disaster to befall the government since I was made a member of the Cabinet. [We don’t think that Hacker actually meant what he seems to be saying here — Ed.]

Martin was quite calm about the Europass. ‘Everyone knows it won’t happen,’ he said.

Who does he mean by ‘everyone’? I certainly didn’t know it wouldn’t happen — but then, I didn’t even know it would happen till yesterday.

‘The PM,’ continued Martin, ‘has to play along with it till after the Napoleon Prize is awarded.’

Apparently the Napoleon Prize is a NATO award, given once every five years. A gold medal, big ceremony in Brussels, and £100,000. The PM is the front runner. It’s awarded to the statesman who has made the biggest contribution to European unity since Napoleon. [That’s if you don’t count Hitler — Ed.]

‘The award committee meets in six weeks,’ said Martin, ‘and so obviously the PM doesn’t want to rock the boat until it’s in the bag.’

I think I caught Bernard mumbling to himself that you don’t put boats in bags, but it was very quiet, I might have misheard, and he refused to repeat what he’d said which makes me think I didn’t mishear at all.

‘And,’ said Martin, reaching the point at last, ‘once the prize is won, the PM will obviously dump the Europass.’

I had this wonderful idea. I couldn’t quite articulate it. It was slowly forming in the back of my mind. But first I needed some answers.

‘Martin,’ I asked. ‘How many people know about the winner of the Napoleon Prize?’

‘It’s top secret,’ he said. Naturally, I was disappointed. Top secret means that everyone knows.

But not this time, apparently. ‘Top secret, top secret,’ said Martin.

I was now so excited that I was becoming incoherent. ‘Don’t you see?’ I said. ‘Backbenchers… leaks…’

A puzzled Humphrey asked me if I were referring to the Welsh Nationalist Party.

And at that moment God was on my side. The door opened, and in stepped Dr Donald Hughes. He apologised, and said he’d return later, but I stopped him. I told him that he was the very man I wanted to see, that I wanted his advice, and invited him to take a pew.

He pretended that he was eager to help me. But he warned that if it were a case of shutting stable doors after horses have bolted, even he would be powerless to help. I said, flatteringly, that I’m sure that he would not be powerless. I put it to him that I was in a serious moral dilemma — which, of course, I invented at that very moment.

My dilemma was this, I said. I told Hughes that I knew that a backbencher was planning to table a question to the PM about whether or not the Europass is to be adopted by Britain.

Hughes was immediately jumpy. ‘Which backbencher? The Europass is top secret.’

‘Like the winner of the Napoleon Prize?’ I asked.

We eyed each other carefully — I wasn’t entirely sure of my next move, but thankfully Bernard stepped in with an inspirational reply. ‘I think the Minister means a hypothetical backbencher,’ he said. Good old Bernard.

Hughes said that it was highly improbable that such a question would be asked.

I ignored that, and explained that if the question were to be asked, there were only two possible replies: if the PM says yes it would be damaging to the government in the country — but if the PM says no it would be even more damaging to the government in Europe. And to the PM personally — in view of the Napoleon Prize.

Hughes nodded, and waited. So I continued. ‘Suppose a hypothetical Minister got wind of this hypothetical backbencher’s question, in advance, what should he do?’

‘The only responsible course for a loyal minister,’ he said carefully, ‘would be to see that the question was not tabled. That must be obvious.’

‘It’s a serious business trying to suppress an MP’s question,’ I said. Of course, he and I both knew that, as yet, there was no question and no such backbencher — but that there could be, if I chose to set it up.

‘The only way to stop him,’ I offered, ‘might be to let the backbencher table a question asking the PM to squash rumours about the closure of the Department of Administrative Affairs.’

There it was. My offer of a deal. Out in the open. Hughes paused to consider, just for a few moments, in case he could see a way out. But there was none.

And, to his credit, he handled it superbly. At once out came all the appropriate phrases: ‘But I’m sure… whatever made you think?… no question of anything but the fullest support…’ etc.

Then Humphrey, who’d got the idea at last, moved in for the kill. ‘But you said only a few days ago that the plan to abolish the Department had been put up and the PM was smiling on it.’

‘Smiling at it,’ said Donald Hughes smoothly. ‘Smiling at it, not on it. The idea was ridiculous, laughable, out of the question. A joke.’ Beautifully done — I take my hat off to him.

So I asked him for a minute from the PM’s office, to be circulated to all departments within twenty-four hours, scotching the rumour. So that we could all share the joke.

‘Do you really think it’s necessary?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ replied Humphrey, Bernard, Frank, Martin and I. In unison.

Hughes said that in that case, he was sure it could be arranged, that it would be a pleasure, how much he’d enjoyed chatting to us all, excused himself and left. Presumably he hurried straight to Number Ten.

Game, set and match. One of my most brilliant performances. I am exceedingly pleased with myself.

Bernard asked, after Donald Hughes had gone, if Hughes can really fix it for us. ‘Don’t Prime Ministers have a mind of their own?’ he asked.

‘Certainly,’ I said to Bernard. ‘But in the words of Chuck Colson, President Nixon’s henchman, when you’ve got them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.’