The Complete Yes Minister

He stared unhappily at his shoes. ‘I’m afraid, er, you did, Minister.’

It seems that the administrative order that I signed a couple of days ago, which Humphrey said was so urgent, gives government departments the power to take over local authority land. It’s known as Section 7, subsection 3 in Whitehall.

I sent for Humphrey. I told Bernard to get him at once, pointing out that this is about the worst disaster of the century.

There were two World Wars, Minister,’ said Bernard as he picked up the phone. I simply told him to shut up, I was in no mood for smartarse insubordination.

‘Fighting on the beaches is one thing,’ I snarled. ‘Evicting cuddly animals and small children to make room for tax inspectors’ cars is in a different league of awfulness.’

Humphrey arrived and started to congratulate me on my television appearance. What kind of a fool does he think I am? I brushed this nonsense aside and demanded an explanation.

‘Ah yes,’ he said smoothly. ‘The Treasury, acting under Section 7, subsection 3 of the Environmental . . .’

‘It’s got to be stopped,’ I interrupted brusquely.

He shook his head, and sighed. ‘Unfortunately, Minister, it is a Treasury decision and not within our jurisdiction.’

I said I’d revoke the order.

‘That, unfortunately,’ he replied, shaking his head gloomily, ‘is impossible. Or very difficult. Or highly inadvisable. Or would require legislation. One of those. But in any case it could not invalidate an action taken while the order was in force.’

As I contemplated this dubious explanation, Mrs Phillips burst in.

She was in full Wagnerian voice. ‘I don’t care if he’s talking to the Queen and the Pope,’ she shouted at some poor Executive Officer outside my door. She strode across the room towards me. ‘Judas,’ was her initial greeting.

‘Steady on,’ I replied firmly.

‘You promised to support us,’ she snarled.

‘Well, yes, I did,’ I was forced to admit.

‘Then you must see that our lease is renewed.’

Sir Humphrey tried to intervene between us. ‘Unfortunately, dear lady, it is not in my Minister’s power to . . .’

She ignored him and said to me: ‘Mr Hacker, you have given your word. Are you going to keep it?’

Put like that, I was in a bit of a spot. I did my best to blur the issue.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘in that, well, I shall certainly . . . you know, I didn’t exactly give my word, that is, I shall explore all the avenues, make every effort, do all that is humanly possible —’ Words to that effect.

Mrs Phillips was no fool. ‘You mean no!’ she said.

I was quite honestly stuck for a reply. I said ‘No,’ then that seemed a little unambiguous so I said ‘No, I mean Yes,’ then that seemed dangerous so I added that by no I didn’t mean no, not definitely not, no.

Then – another bombshell! ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she said. ‘My husband is deputy features editor of the Express. Tomorrow morning your name will be manure. You will be roasted alive by the whole of the national press.’

The room fell silent after she swept out and slammed the door. An intense gloom had descended upon the assembled company – or upon me, anyway. Finally, Sir Humphrey found his voice: ‘It falls to few people,’ he said encouragingly, ‘to be within twenty-four hours both St Francis and St Joan.’

I have got to stop this farm being closed. But how? Clearly I’m going to get no help from my Permanent Secretary.

September 21st

No story in the Express today, which was a slight relief. But I couldn’t believe they’ll let it pass.

And when I got to the office there was a message asking me to call that wretched rag.

Also, a message that Sir Desmond wanted to see me urgently. I suggested a meeting next week to Bernard, but it seemed that he was downstairs waiting! Astonishing.

So Bernard let him in. Humphrey appeared as well.

When we were all gathered, Glazebrook said he’d just had an idea. For nine storeys extra on his bank! I was about to boot him out when he explained that if they had nine more storeys the bank could postpone Phase III for seven years. This would leave a site vacant.

‘So?’ I was not getting his drift.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I was reading in the Financial Times a day or two ago about your visit to that City Farm. Thought it was a jolly good wheeze. And, you see, our Phase III site is only two hundred yards away from it, so you could use it to extend the farm. Or if they wanted to move . . . for any reason . . . it’s actually a bit bigger . . . We thought of calling it the James Hacker Cuddly Animal Sanctuary . . .’ (he and Humphrey exchanged looks) ‘well, Animal Sanctuary anyway, and nine storeys isn’t really very much is it?’

It was clear that they were in cahoots. But it was, unmistakably, a way out. If I gave them permission for a high-rise bank, they’d enable the City Farm to stay open.