The Complete Yes Minister (74 page)

‘Yes Minister,’ he replied with great warmth.

And we had a jolly good evening – good music, great singing, smart people and some delicious little smoked salmon sandwiches in the Crush Bar.

Maybe I was wrong. The middle classes are entitled to a few perks, aren’t they?

¹
In conversation with the Editors.

²
As soon as possible.

21

The Skeleton in the Cupboard

An interesting situation emerged today from another meeting to which my old friend Dr Cartwright came.

It was a fairly dull routine meeting to start with, all about local government administration. As Humphrey predicted, our Department was increasing in size, staffing and budget. He is plainly in his element. So far, however, it hasn’t involved much in the way of policy decisions, which is where I come in.

We’d reached item seven on the agenda, and so far it had been pretty uneventful. The only interest had been in Bernard’s pedantic linguistic quibbles, about which he is becoming obsessional.

‘Item seven,’ I asked, ‘what’s it about?’

‘If I may just recapitulate,’ began Sir Humphrey.

Bernard made a little sign and caught my eye.

‘Yes Bernard?’

‘Um – one can’t actually recapitulate an item if one hasn’t started it yet,’ he volunteered.

Sir Humphrey, who doesn’t like to be corrected by
anyone
, let alone a mere Private Secretary, thanked him coldly and proceeded to complete his sentence, thus demonstrating to Bernard that the correction was both impertinent and unnecessary.

‘Thank you, Bernard, where would we be without you? Minister, may I just, recapitulating
on our last meeting
and on our submissions which you have doubtless received in your boxes . . .’

I was thoroughly amused, and not paying full attention. ‘Doubtless,’ I interrupted cheerfully, and then realised that I didn’t know what he was talking about. After all, they give me mountains of paper to read virtually every day, I can’t remember everything.

‘Which minutes?’ I asked.

‘On the proposal to take disciplinary action against the South-West Derbyshire County Council.’

I still had no idea what the proposal was. But I didn’t like to admit it, it’s always better to make them think that one is completely on top of the job. So I casually asked Bernard to remind me.

The problem was that the council in question had failed to complete their statutory returns and supply us with the statistical information that the DAA requires.

I asked what we were going to do about it. Apparently a policy decision was required from me. Sir Humphrey offered me assorted alternatives. ‘A rebuke from the Minister, a press statement about their incompetence, withholding various grants and allowances, or, ultimately, as you are no doubt fully aware . . .’

‘Yes, yes,’ I interrupted helpfully.

‘Good,’ he said, and fell silent.

Again I was in a bit of a hole. I had no idea what he’d been about to say. But clearly he was waiting for my comments.

‘I’m fully aware of . . . what?’ I prompted him.

‘What?’

‘What am I fully aware of?’

‘I can’t think of anything.’ Then he realised what he’d said because he added hastily, ‘I mean, I can’t think what you are . . .’

‘You were saying,’ I explained, feeling somewhat embarrassed by now. (After all, seven assorted officials of various ages and ranks were silently watching my display of confusion and ineptitude.) ‘You were saying: “ultimately, as I’m fully aware” . . .’

‘Ah yes, Minister.’ Now he was on the ball again. ‘Ultimately, taking the local authority to court.’

I asked if a failure to complete returns is all that serious.

Eight officials looked shocked! I was told categorically that it is not merely serious, but catastrophic!

I wanted to know why. Sir Humphrey was quick to explain.

‘If local authorities don’t send us the statistics we ask for, then government figures will be nonsense. They’ll be incomplete.’

I pointed out that government figures are a nonsense anyway. No one denied it, but Bernard suggested that Sir Humphrey wanted to ensure that they are a complete nonsense.

He was rewarded with another withering look from his boss.

I was worried about making an example of South-West Derbyshire, which I happened to know is controlled by my party. Humphrey realised that this was on my mind, and raised the matter with me. I responded by suggesting that we pick on an opposition council instead.

This went down badly. I can’t see why. What does he expect? Anyway, the suggestion was met with pursed lips from Sir Humphrey, and everyone else looked down at their blotters.

So I asked if South-West Derbyshire are really all that bad. And suddenly everyone had plenty to say.

One Under-Sec. told me that they won’t return their blue forms (whatever they are, something to do with finance I think). An Assistant-Sec. told me that they replied to the DAA’s Ethnic Personnel Breakdown Request in longhand, on the back of a departmental circular. And a delightfully attractive lady Assistant-Sec. was appalled because she still hadn’t received their Social Worker Revised Case-load Analysis for the last two quarters. Or their Distributed Data Processing Appropriation Tables. ‘They’re unbelievable,’ she said. ‘Really evil.’

This was a definition of evil? Someone who doesn’t return his blue form? ‘Yes,’ I said with heavy irony, ‘I don’t see how life still goes on in South Derbyshire.’

Sir Humphrey took my remark at face value. ‘Exactly, Minister. They really are in a class of their own for incompetence.’

Still worried about my party problems, I enquired if they had no redeeming features. And my old friend Dr Cartwright piped up cheerfully. ‘Well, it is interesting that . . .’

Sir Humphrey cut right across him. ‘So if that’s all right, Minister, we can take appropriate coercive action?’

Dr Cartwright had another try. ‘Except that the Minister might . . .’

Again Sir Humphrey interrupted him. ‘So can we take it you approve?’ It was all beginning to look distinctly fishy.

I decided not to give an immediate answer. ‘It’s a difficult one. They’re friends of ours.’

‘They’re no friends of good administration.’

I refused to be pressured. ‘Give me twenty-four hours. I’ll have to square the party organisation. Get the Chairman invited to a drinkies do at Number Ten or something. Soften the blow.’

And I insisted that we press on to the next item.

As the meeting broke up I noticed Dr Cartwright hovering, as if he wanted a private word with me. But Sir Humphrey took him by the arm and gently guided him away. ‘I need your advice, Dick, if you could spare me a moment.’ And they were gone.

Having thought about this overnight, I think I’ll question Bernard more closely tomorrow.

A fascinating day.

I raised the matter with Bernard as soon as I got to the office. I told him that my instincts told me that there is a good reason not to discipline South-West Derbyshire.

‘Furthermore, Dr Cartwright seemed to be trying to tell me something. I think I’ll drop in on him.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Minister,’ he said rather too hastily.

‘Why not?’

He hesitated. ‘Well, it is, er, understood that if Ministers need to know anything it will be brought to their attention. If they go out looking for information, they might, er they might . . .’

‘Find it?’

‘Yes.’ He looked sheepish.

I remarked that it may be ‘understood’, but it’s not understood by me.

Bernard obviously felt he had better explain further. ‘Sir Humphrey does not take kindly to the idea of Ministers just dropping in on people. “Going walkabout”, he calls it.’

I couldn’t see anything wrong with that. I reminded him that the Queen does it.

He disagreed. ‘I don’t think she drops in on Under-Secretaries. Not in Sir Humphrey’s department.’

I took a firm line. I asked Bernard for Dr Cartwright’s room number.

He virtually stood to attention. ‘I must formally advise you against this, Minister,’ he said.

‘Advice noted,’ I said. ‘What’s his room number?’

‘Room 4017. Down one flight, second corridor on the left.’

I told him that if I wasn’t back within forty-eight hours he could send a search party.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:
¹

I well recall the day that Hacker went walkabout. This was the kind of situation that highlighted the dilemma of a Minister’s Private Secretary. On the one hand I was expected to be loyal to the Minister, and any sign of disloyalty to him would mean that I had blotted my copybook. On the other hand, Sir Humphrey was my Permanent Secretary, my career was to be in the Civil Service for the next thirty years, and I owed a loyalty there also.

This is why high-flyers are usually given a spell as Private Secretary. If one can walk the tightrope with skill and manage to judge what is proper when there is a conflict, then one may go straight to the top, as I did.

[
‘Walking the tightrope’ is Sir Bernard’s phrase for betraying confidences from each side to the other while remaining undetected – Ed
.]

After the Minister left his office I telephoned Graham Jones, Sir Humphrey Appleby’s Private Secretary. I let him know that the Minister had gone walkabout. I had no choice but to do this, as I had received specific instructions from Sir Humphrey that this should be discouraged [
i.e. prevented. – Ed
.].

I actually counted out ten seconds on my watch, from the moment I replaced the receiver, so well did I know the distance from his office to the Minister’s, and Sir Humphrey entered the office on the count of ‘ten’.

He asked me what had happened. Carefully playing it down, I told him that the Minister had left his own office. Nothing more.

Sir Humphrey seemed most upset that Hacker was, to use his words, ‘loose in the building’. He asked me why I had not stopped him.

As it was my duty to defend my Minister, even against the boss of my own department, I informed Sir Humphrey that (a) I had advised against it, but (b) he was the Minister, and there was no statutory prohibition on Ministers talking to their staff.

He asked me to whom the Minister was talking. I evaded the question, as was my duty – clearly the Minister did not want Sir Humphrey to know. ‘Perhaps he was just restless’ is what I think I said.

I recall Sir Humphrey’s irritable reply: ‘If he’s restless he can feed the ducks in St James’s Park.’

Again he asked who the Minister was talking to, and again I evaded – under more pressure by this time – by seeking confirmation that the Minister could talk to anyone he liked.

Sir Humphrey’s reply made it clear to me that he attached the greatest departmental importance to the issue. ‘I am in the middle of writing your annual report,’ he told me. ‘It is not a responsibility that either of us would wish me to discharge while I am in a bad temper.’ Then he asked me
again
to whom the Minister was talking.

I realised that I had gone as far as I safely could in defending the Minister’s interests. And yet as his Private Secretary, I had to be seen to be standing up for him.

So I resorted to a well-tried formula. I asked for Sir Humphrey’s help. Then I said: ‘I can quite see that you should be told if the Minister calls on an outsider. But I can’t see that it is necessary to inform you if he just wanted, to take a purely hypothetical example, to check a point with, say, Dr Cartwright. . . .’

He interrupted me, thanked me, and left the room. I called ‘4017’ after him – well, why not?

I had passed the test with flying colours. I had managed to see that Sir Humphrey knew what he wanted, without actually telling him myself.

The hypothetical example was, and is, an excellent way of dealing with such problems.

[
Hacker’s diary continues – Ed
.]

When I got to Cartwright’s office I certainly learned a thing or two. Cartwright was delighted to see me, and told me quite openly that I had been misled at yesterday’s meeting. I was intrigued.

‘But all those things they told me about South-West Derbyshire – aren’t they true?’

‘They may be, for all I know.’

I asked him precisely what he was saying. To my surprise I got a completely straight answer. I can see why he’s going to rise no higher.

‘I’m saying that, nevertheless, South-West Derbyshire is the most efficient local authority in the UK.’ And he blinked at me pleasantly from behind his half-moon reading glasses.

I was surprised, to say the least. ‘The most efficient? But I’m supposed to be ticking them off for being the
least
efficient.’

Then he showed the figures.

This in itself was a surprise, as I’d been told that they didn’t send us the figures. This was true – but no one had told me that they kept their own records perfectly well, which were available for us to see.

And the figures are impressive. They have the lowest truancy record in the Midlands, the lowest administrative costs per council house, the lowest ratio in Britain of council workers to rate income, and a clean bill of public health with the lowest number of environmental health officers.
²

And that’s not all. It seems that virtually all the children can read and write, despite their teachers’ efforts to give them a progressive education. ‘And,’ Cartwright finished up, ‘they have the smallest establishment of social workers in the UK.’

From the way he reported this fact I gathered he thought that this was a good thing. I enquired further.

‘Oh yes. Very good. Sign of efficiency. Parkinson’s Law of Social Work, you see. It’s well known that social problems increase to occupy the total number of social workers available to deal with them.’