The Complete Yes Minister

I brushed aside the insult and the complaints. I told him I wanted specific proposals right away, and immediate plans for the implementation of failure standards by local authorities. I couldn’t see why he was getting so worked up about it – and then, the penny dropped: these failure standards could be made to apply to Whitehall as well.

I’d just started to say something along those lines when Humphrey made a chance remark that immediately caught my attention.

‘Minister, if you insist in interfering in local government, may I make a positive suggestion that could prove a very real vote-winner?’

I always try to make time to listen to a positive suggestion.

‘There is an area of local government that needs urgent attention – Civil Defence.’

I thought at first that this was a completely frivolous suggestion. Everybody regards fall-out shelters as a joke.

He seemed to read my mind. ‘At the moment, Minister, you may think they are a joke. But the highest duty of any government is to protect its citizens. And Local Authorities are dragging their feet.’

‘Some people,’ I said, ‘think that building shelters makes nuclear war more likely.’

‘If you have the weapons, you must have the shelters.’

‘I suppose you’re right. But I wonder if we really need the weapons.’

Sir Humphrey was shocked. ‘Minister! You’re not a unilateralist?’

I told him that I sometimes wonder. He told me that in that case I should resign from the government. I told him that I’m not that unilateralist.

‘But after all, Humphrey,’ I added, ‘the Americans will always protect us from the Russians, won’t they?’

‘The Russians?’ he asked. ‘Who’s talking about the Russians?’

‘Well, the independent nuclear deterrent . . .’

He interrupted me. ‘It’s to protect us against the French.’

I could hardly believe my ears. The French? It sounded incredible. An extraordinary idea. I reminded Humphrey that they are our allies, our partners.

‘They are now,’ he agreed. ‘But they’ve been our enemies for most of the past nine hundred years. If they have it, we must!’

It only needed a few seconds’ thought to realise the profound truth of what he was saying. Suddenly it didn’t seem at all incredible – just common sense, really. If the bomb is to protect us from the French, that’s a completely different matter, obviously we’ve got to have it, you can’t trust the Frogs, there’s no room for discussion about that!’

Furthermore, there is – unquestionably – increasing public concern about the bomb. And if one can be seen to be doing something about it, it could do one a lot of good politically.

Also I gathered at the Beeb that Ludovic Kennedy is preparing a TV documentary on Civil Defence, and it’s bound to be critical of the current situation. So if I were seen to be taking decisive measures . . .

‘When do we start?’ I asked Humphrey.

He had an immediate suggestion. ‘The London Borough of Thames Marsh has spent less on Civil Defence than any authority in the country.’

An excellent starting plan. Thames Marsh is Ben Stanley’s borough, that odious troglodite with the wispy moustache. The press hate him.

So I told Bernard to set up the visit, and make sure the press are fully informed. ‘Tell them,’ I instructed him, ‘that I lie awake at night worrying about the defenceless citizens of Thames Marsh.’

‘Do you?’ asked Bernard.

‘I will now!’ I said firmly.

March 23rd

I made an official visit to Thames Marsh Town Hall today. There was a very satisfactory turn-out from the press, I noticed, especially photographers.

I met a so-called ‘welcoming committee’ on the front steps. Loads of flash-guns going off. I was introduced to the Leader of the Council.

‘Mr Stanley, I presume,’ I said. I’d prepared it of course, but it got a jolly good laugh from the assembled hacks.

The ensuing discussion over cups of tea and sticky buns in the Mayor’s Parlour can hardly be described as a meeting of minds. But I made the point I had to make with great effectiveness, and I’m sure it will all be reported. If not, no doubt it will be leaked somehow. [In other words, Hacker would leak it – Ed.]

Stanley opened the hostilities by asking me belligerently why I thought I could come swanning down to Thames Marsh from Whitehall, telling them how to run their borough.

In return, I asked him (politely) why he was doing less than any other borough in Britain to protect the people who elected him.

‘Simple,’ he said, ‘we can’t find the money.’

I suggested he try looking for it. This produced an outburst of anger, mixed with a good dose of self-righteousness.

‘Oh that’s great,’ he snapped, smiling a thin smile, strangely at variance with his malevolent, beady eyes, a crumb or two of the Mayor’s Battenburg marzipan cake stuck to his twitching moustache. ‘Oh that’s great. Stop school meals? Buy no textbooks? Turn the OAPs¹ out into the cold?’

I wasn’t impressed by all that cheap electioneering rubbish. It’s nothing to do with our Senior Citizens.²