The Complete Yes Minister

Sarah said she was joining a merchant bank. As a Director.

She’ll earn more than me. Perhaps even more than Humphrey!

I tried to explain to her that this news was a frightful blow. ‘You see, Sarah, the reason that I’m telling you of your promotion – or rather, Humphrey and I together – is that I have been fighting a losing battle to improve the promotion prospects of women at the top of the Service. And, well, you were to be my Trojan Horse.’

She then explained the reason for her move. ‘Quite honestly, Minister, I want a job where I don’t spend endless hours circulating information that isn’t relevant about subjects that don’t matter to people who aren’t interested. I want a job where there is achievement rather than merely activity. I’m tired of pushing paper. I would like to be able to point at something and say “I did that.”’

The irony of what she was saying was extraordinary. I understand her feeling only too well.

Sir Humphrey didn’t. He looked blank. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘I know. That’s why I’m leaving.’

I explained that I did understand. But I asked her if she was saying that governing Britain is unimportant.

‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s very important. It’s just that I haven’t met anyone who’s doing it.’

She added that she’d had enough of the pointless intrigue. I asked what she had in mind. ‘Your using me as a Troj an Horse, for instance. And they probably told you that the unions wouldn’t wear it if you promoted me.’

I was staggered. Had there been a leak? I asked her how she knew.

She was delighted. She grinned from ear to ear. ‘Oh, I didn’t know. I just know how things are done here.’

We both stared at Humphrey, who had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

I made one last effort to persuade her to change her mind. ‘Look here, Sarah,’ I said sternly, ‘you don’t seem to appreciate that I’ve fought quite a battle for you.’

Suddenly her eyes blazed. For the first time I recognised the toughness that had brought her to near the top. And the sense of style and dignity. I realised that I’d said something awfully wrong.

‘Oh, have you?’ she asked. ‘Well, I didn’t ask you to fight a battle for me. I’m not pleased at the idea of being part of a twenty-five per cent quota. Women are not inferior beings, and I don’t enjoy being patronised. I’m afraid you’re as paternalist and chauvinist as the rest of them. I’m going somewhere where I shall be accepted as an equal, on my own merits, as a person.’

I was speechless. Clearly I’d offended her. And I suddenly realised that you can’t win.

‘May I go now?’

There was, of course, no reason to keep her sitting there. I apologised for offending her, though I couldn’t see how I’d done it.

‘No,’ she said, in a kindly way. ‘And thank you – I know you both mean well.’ And off she went, leaving two very puzzled and deflated chaps.

‘Women!’ I said.

‘Yes Minister,’ murmured Humphrey, nodding sadly as if to say ‘I told you so!’

[This was not quite the end of the matter. Recently published papers revealed that Hacker fought on for his twenty-five per cent quota for some considerable time – some weeks, anyway. And, as Sir Harold Wilson once said, a week is a long time in politics.

Sir Humphrey’s ingenuity rose to the occasion. He warned Hacker that the Race Relations Board had heard on the grapevine of his proposed quota for women. He told Hacker that if there was to be any affirmative action within the Civil Service, there must also be a quota of blacks within the Civil Service. Sir Humphrey explained that there was a principle at stake.

Hacker was less than enthusiastic about this new principle. He was certainly not a racist, but he could see clearly that whereas a quota for women was a vote-winner, a quota for blacks was in all probability a vote-loser.

Some days later Hacker raised what he called ‘this whole business of minority groups – women, blacks, trades unionists and so forth’.