The Complete Yes Minister (42 page)

‘Perhaps,’ speculated Humphrey, ‘he has the PM’s ear.’

That’s the obvious answer – I was forced to agree. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Everyone knows that he’s in the PM’s pocket.’

Bernard perked up. ‘Then the PM must have a rather large ear,’ he said.

I gave him another withering glance.

I decided not to worry about it any further. I will say no more about it.

It’s pointless to worry about it. There’s nothing to worry about, anyway.

Yet.

So I briefly discussed the Word Processing Conference in Brussels. Humphrey wants us to go. But it
might
be before the reshuffle.

I asked Humphrey if he knew when the reshuffle would be. After all, it considerably affects the plans I might want to make.

Humphrey’s reply was as little help as usual. Something like: ‘I’m not privy to the Prime Minister’s plans for the projected reshuffle, if indeed there is to be a reshuffle, and I am therefore unaware of any projected date, if indeed there is such a date, and so I think you must proceed on the assumption that the reshuffle will not have happened and make plans for you or your successor accordingly, if indeed you are to have a successor, which of course you may not.’

I decided to decline the invitation. Just in case. I’ve seen this happen before. This is no time to go on an idiotic foreign junket. One day you’re out of your office, the next day you’re out of office.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:
²

I well remember that rather tense discussion. Hacker told us no less than six or seven times that he would not worry about the reshuffle, that it was pointless to worry about it and the matter was closed.

Then he bit his fingernails a lot.

As he left the office on the way to the Commons, I advised him not to let the reshuffle prey on his mind.

He was most indignant. ‘It’s not preying on my mind,’ he said. ‘I’ve stopped thinking about it.’

And as he left he stopped, turned to me and said: ‘Bernard, I’ll see you at six o’clock in the House of Shuffles – er, Cards – er, Commons.’

[
During the following week a meeting took place at the Athenaeum Club between Sir Humphrey Appleby, Sir Arnold Robinson (the Cabinet Secretary) and – joining them later – Bernard Woolley. Sir Humphrey wrote a memo, which we found in the DAA Personnel Files at Walthamstow – Ed
.]

Had a meeting with Arnold, who claimed he was unable to give me any details about the impending reshuffle. He said he was merely Cabinet Secretary, not the Political Editor of the
New Standard
.

However, he revealed that Brussels have asked if Hacker would be available for the next Commissionership. It seems it’s his if he wants it. A good European and all that.

B.W. [
Bernard Woolley – Ed
.] joined us for coffee. Arnold asked how he felt about having a new Minister. To my astonishment, B.W. said he would be sorry.

Of course, Private Secretaries often feel a certain loyalty to their Ministers, but these feelings must be kept strictly under control. Admitting these sentiments to Sir Arnold is not good for B.W.’s career.

Then, compounding his error, he said that we would all miss Hacker because he was beginning to get a grip on the job.

I sent him home at once.

Subsequently I explained, in confidence, the following essential points on the subject of reshuffles. I told him to commit them to memory.

1) Ministers with a grip on the job are a nuisance because:

(a) they argue

(b) they start to learn the facts

(c) they ask if you have carried out instructions they gave you six months ago

(d) if you tell them something is impossible, they may dig out an old submission in which you said it was easy

2) When Ministers have gone, we can wipe the slate clean and start again with a new boy

3) Prime Ministers like reshuffles – keeps everyone on the hop

4) Ministers are the
only
people who are frightened of them

B.W. suggested that it would be interesting if Ministers were fixed and Permanent Secretaries were shuffled around. I think he only does it to annoy. He must realise that such a plan strikes at the very heart of the system that has made Britain what she is today.

Just to be safe I instructed B.W. to memorise the following three points:

Power goes with permanence

Impermanence is impotence

Rotation is castration

Talking of which, I think that perhaps Bernard should be given a new posting before too long.

[
The following day, Sir Humphrey received a crucial piece of information in a note from Sir Arnold – Ed
.]

[
Hacker was naturally in complete ignorance of the above information. His diaries continue below – Ed
.]

Still no news of the reshuffle.

I’ve been sitting up till late, doing my boxes. Three of them, tonight.

The papers were still full of rumours about the reshuffle. Annie asked me tonight if they’re true.

I told her I didn’t know.

She was surprised. She thought I was bound to know, as I’m in the Cabinet. But that’s the whole point – we’ll be the last to know.

Annie suggested I ask the PM. But obviously I can’t – it would make me look as though I were insecure.

The trouble is, I don’t know whether it’ll be good news. I explained this to Annie. ‘I don’t know whether I’ll be going up or down.’

‘Or just round and round, as usual,’ she said.

I asked her if, quite seriously, she thought I’d been a success. Or a failure.

She said: ‘I think you’ve done all right.’

‘But is that good enough?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘Is it?’

We sat and looked at each other. It’s so hard to tell. I had a sudden thought.

‘Perhaps the PM might think I’m becoming too successful. A possible challenge to the leadership.’

Annie looked up from her book, and blinked. ‘You?’ she asked.

I hadn’t actually meant me, as such, though I wasn’t all that pleased that she was
so
surprised.

‘No,’ I explained, ‘Martin. But with my support. So if the PM is trying to repel boarders and if Martin can’t be got rid of safely, which he can’t, not the Foreign Secretary, then . . . I’m the obvious one to be demoted. Do you see? Isolate Martin.’

She asked where I could be sent. ‘That’s easy. Lord President, Lord Privy Seal, Minister for the Arts, Minister for Sport in charge of Floods and Droughts – there’s no shortage of useless non-jobs. And Basil Corbett is out to get me,’ I reminded Annie.

‘He’s out to get everyone,’ she pointed out. That’s true.

‘He’s a smooth-tongued, cold-eyed, hard-nosed, two-faced creep,’ I said, trying to be fair.

She was puzzled. ‘How is he so successful?’

‘Because,’ I explained, ‘he’s a smooth-tongued, cold-eyed, hard-nosed, two-faced creep.’

Also he’s got a good television manner, a lot of grassroots party support (though
all
the MPs hate him), and he has somehow conned the public into believing he’s sincere.

His biggest and best weapon is elbows. I’ve got to elbow Corbett out of the way, or else he’ll elbow me. I explained to Annie that elbows are the most important weapon in a politician’s armoury.

‘Other than integrity,’ she said.

I’m afraid I laughed till I cried. Tears rolled down my face. It took me five minutes to get my breath back – what made it even funnier was Annie staring at me, uncomprehending, as if I’d gone mad.

I didn’t really get my breath back till the phone rang. To my enormous surprise it was Gaston Larousse – from Brussels.

‘Good evening, Commissionaire,’ I said. Perhaps I should have just said Commissioner.

He was calling me to enquire if I’d let my name go forward as a commissioner of the EEC. I told him I was honoured, that I’d have to think about it, thanked him for thinking of me, etc. I asked him if Number Ten knew about it. He was evasive, but eventually said yes.

[
Notes of this phone call discovered many years later among Gaston Larousse’s papers suggest that he was not intentionally evasive. Hacker, presumably in an attempt to show that he was a linguist, enquired if
Numéro Dix
knew about the offer. Larousse did not initially equate
Numéro Dix
with Number Ten Downing Street – Ed
.]

What does this mean?

I discussed it with Annie. Obviously, it would mean living in Brussels, as she pointed out.

But what does it
mean
?
Really
mean? Is it a plot by Number Ten to ease me out? Or is it a coincidence? Is it a hint? Is the PM giving me a face-saving exit? If so, why hasn’t Number Ten told me? Or is it nothing to do with the PM? Was the vacancy coming up anyway? And it’s a great honour – isn’t it? Why is my life always so full of unanswerable questions?

Then Annie thought of yet another question. ‘Is it a good job?’

I shook my head. ‘It’s a terrible job. It would be curtains for me as far as British politics is concerned. Worse than getting a peerage. Complete failure. You’re reduced to forming a new party to try and get back.’

Annie asked what the job involved.

I began to list it all. ‘Well,’ I told her, ‘you’re right in the heart of that ghastly European bureaucracy. It’s one big gravy train: fifty thousand a year salary, twenty thousand pounds expense account. All champagne and lobsters. Banquets. Overseas visits. Luxury hotels. Limousines and chauffeurs and private aircraft and siestas after lunch and weekends on the beach at Knokke-le-Zoute . . .’ I suddenly realised what I was saying. It’s strange how you can talk and talk and not hear yourself – not hear the implications of what you’re saying.

‘Perhaps,’ I finished, ‘we should go over there and have a look.’

Annie looked hopeful. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Sometimes I think we deserve a bit of failure.’

Had an interesting conversation with Roy
⁴
this morning. Of course, he knew all about the reshuffle.

I assumed he’d read it in the
Standard
like me – but no, he first heard of it a couple of weeks ago. (Why didn’t he tell
me
? He knows that I rely on him to keep me fully informed.)

But it seems he assumed I knew.
All
the drivers knew. They knew it from the PM’s driver and the Cabinet Secretary’s driver – apparently it’s been an open secret.

Casually, I asked him what
he’d
heard – trying thereby to suggest that I had also heard things. Which I haven’t, of course.

‘Just the usual, sir,’ he replied. ‘Corbett’s in line for promotion, the PM can’t overlook him. And apparently old Fred – sorry guv, I mean the Employment Secretary – he’s going to get the push. Kicked upstairs.’

He seemed utterly confident about this. I asked him how he knew.

‘His driver’s been reassigned.’

‘And what’s the gossip about me?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

Nothing! Was he telling the truth? There must be
some
gossip about me. I’m in the bloody Cabinet, for God’s sake.

‘Funny, isn’t it?’ said Roy. ‘My mates and I haven’t known what to make of that.’ He gave me a sly look in the rear-view mirror. ‘’Course, you’ll know what’s happening to you, won’t you sir?’

He knew bloody well I’ve not the faintest idea. Or else he was trying to find out. More information to barter in the transport pool.

‘Yes, of course,’ I replied, vaguely. I should have left it at that, but it was like picking at a scab. ‘’Course, it’s hard to tell about oneself sometimes – you know, whether one’s a success, or . . .’ He didn’t come to the rescue. I tried again. ‘Do your mates, er . . .’

He interrupted me, some what patronisingly.

‘They all think you’ve done all right, sir.’

Again!

Yesterday was full of meetings. Cabinet, Cabinet Committee, three-line whip in the house – I got very little time with Bernard. Not enough for a real conversation.

But Bernard’s always given me loyal support, he’s a bright fellow, and I decided to seek his advice.

I told him, over a cup of tea this afternoon, that I’m in a bit of a quandary.

‘There’s this reshuffle on the cards,’ I began.

He chuckled. I couldn’t see why. Then he apologised. ‘I’m so sorry, Minister, I thought you were making a . . . do go on.’

‘To complicate matters, and I tell you this in complete confidence, Bernard, I’ve been approached about becoming one of Britain’s EEC Commissioners in Brussels.’

‘How very nice,’ said Bernard. ‘It’s always a help to have an ace up one’s sleeve in a shuffle.’

‘But
is
it nice?’ I seized upon his reply. ‘That’s my dilemma.’ He said nothing. I asked him if he really thought that, as Minister at the DAA, I’d done all right.