The Complete Yes Minister

We were having a meeting of assorted officials, of which he was one. I noticed that we hadn’t even been properly introduced to each other, which I had presumed was some sort of oversight.

But, as the meeting was breaking up, this shambling figure of an elderly schoolboy placed himself directly in front of me and asked me in a soft Lancashire accent if he could have a brief word with me.

Naturally I agreed. Also, I was intrigued. He looked a bit different from most of my officials – a baggy tweed sports jacket, leather elbows, mousy hair brushed forward towards thick spectacles. He looked like a middle-aged ten-year-old. If I’d tried to guess his profession, I would have guessed prep school science master.

‘It’s about a proposal, worked out before we were transferred to this Department,’ he said in his comforting high-pitched voice.

‘And you are . . .?’ I asked. I still didn’t know who he was.

‘I am . . . what?’ he asked me.

I thought he was going to tell me what his job is. ‘Yes,’ I asked, ‘you are what?’

He seemed confused. ‘What?’

Now I was confused. ‘What?’

‘I’m Dr Cartwright.’

Bernard chose this moment to intervene. ‘But if I may put it another way . . . what are you?’

‘I’m C of E,’ said Dr Cartwright puzzled.

‘No,’ said Bernard patiently. ‘I think the Minister means, what function do you perform in this Department.’

‘Don’t you know?’ Dr Cartwright sounded slightly horrified.

‘Yes, I know,’ said Bernard, ‘but the Minister wants to know.’

‘Ah,’ said Dr Cartwright. We’d got there at last. No one would believe that this is how busy people in the corridors of power communicate with each other.

‘I’m a professional economist,’ he explained. ‘Director of Local Administrative Statistics.’

‘So you were in charge of the Local Government Directorate until we took it over?’

He smiled at my question. ‘Dear me, no.’ He shook his head sadly, though apparently without bitterness. ‘No, I’m just Under-Secretary rank. Sir Gordon Reid was the Permanent Secretary. I fear that I will rise no higher.’

I asked why not.

He smiled. ‘Alas! I am an expert.’

[It is interesting to note that the cult of the generalist had such a grip on Whitehall that experts accepted their role as second-class citizens with equanimity and without rancour – Ed.]

‘An expert on what?’

‘The whole thing,’ he said modestly. Then he handed me a file.

I’m sitting here reading the file right now. It’s dynamite. It’s a scheme for controlling local authority expenditure. He proposes that every council official responsible for a new project would have to list the criteria for failure before he’s given the go-ahead.

I didn’t grasp the implication of this at first. But I’ve discussed it with Annie and she tells me it’s what’s called ‘the scientific method’. I’ve never really come across that, since my early training was in sociology and economics. But ‘the scientific method’ apparently means that you first establish a method of measuring the success or failure of an experiment. A proposal would have to say: ‘The scheme will be a failure if it takes longer than this’ or ‘costs more than that’ or ‘employs more staff than these’ or ‘fails to meet those pre-set performance standards’.

Fantastic. We’ll get going on this right away. The only thing is, I can’t understand why this hasn’t been done before.

March 16th

The first thing I did this morning was get Dr Cartwright on the phone, and ask him.

He didn’t know the answer. ‘I can’t understand it either. I put the idea up several times and it was always welcomed very warmly. But Sir Gordon always seemed to have something more urgent on when we were due to discuss it.’

I told him he’d come to the right place this time and rang off.

Then Bernard popped in. He was looking rather anxious. Obviously he’d been listening-in on his extension and taking notes. [This was customary, and part of the Private Secretary’s official duties – Ed.]

‘That’s marvellous, isn’t it Bernard?’ I asked.

There was a pointed silence.

‘You’ve read the report, have you? Cartwright’s report?’

‘Yes, Minister.’

‘Well, what do you think of it?’

‘Oh, it’s er, that is, er it’s very well presented, Minister.’

The message was clear.

‘Humphrey will be fascinated, don’t you think?’ I said mischievously.

Bernard cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’ve arranged a meeting with him about this for tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll give you his views.’

‘What are you saying, Bernard? Out with it.’

‘Yes, well, as I say,’ he waffled for a bit, ‘um . . . I think that he’ll think that it’s er, beautifully . . . typed.’

And then surprisingly he smiled from ear to ear.

March 17th