The Complete Yes Minister

Sir Mark asked if he could give the PM the good news that I had taken on the job on the way to the airport.

Graciously, I agreed.

Hacker leaving Downing Street after the meeting (London Press Association)

August 12th

At an early morning meeting with Sir Humphrey, I told him I had good news. ‘I’ve got a new job,’ I began.

‘Oh dear, the Department will be awfully sorry to lose you,’ he responded pleasantly. A bit too pleasantly, perhaps.

But I explained that it was merely an extra job, developing and implementing an integrated national transport policy. At the special request of the PM. My Permanent Secretary did not seem pleased. In fact, he seemed to flinch.

‘I see,’ he replied. ‘And what was the good news?’

I thought he must have misheard, so I told him again.

‘So how,’ he enquired drily, ‘if I may be so bold as to enquire, would you define bad news?’

I asked him to explain himself.

‘Minister,’ he said with a heavy sigh, ‘are you aware what this job would mean if you accepted it?’

‘I have accepted it.’

His mouth dropped open. ‘You’ve what?’ he gasped.

‘I have accepted it.’ I went on to explain that it is an honour, and also that we need a transport policy.

‘If by “we” you mean Britain, that’s perfectly true,’ he acknowledged. ‘But if by “we” you mean you and me and this Department, we need a transport policy like an aperture in the cranial cavity.’³

He went on to describe the job as a bed of nails, a crown of thorns, and a booby trap.

At first I thought he was just being silly or lazy or something. I could see that it would cause him some extra administrative problems, but on the other hand it usually gave Humphrey pleasure to add to his empire – bigger budget, more staff, all that sort of thing.

‘No Minister, the point is that you are the one who is at risk. My job, as always, is merely to protect the seat of your trousers. The reason that there has never been an integrated transport policy is that such a policy is in everybody’s interest except the Minister who creates it.’

I couldn’t see why.

Humphrey paused for a minute, and gazed at the ceiling contemplatively. ‘How can I put it in a manner that is close to your heart?’ he asked himself. I waited. So did Bernard. ‘Ah, I have it,’ he murmured, turning to look at me straight in the eye. ‘It is the ultimate vote-loser.’

I was stunned. Vote-loser?

Sir Humphrey explained, ‘Why do you think the Transport Secretary isn’t doing this?’

I was just about to reply that the Transport Secretary is apparently too close to it and can’t see the wood for the trees, when Sir Humphrey said: ‘He’s too close to it, I suppose? Can’t see the wood for the trees? Is that what they told you?’

‘You tell me another reason then,’ I challenged him.

‘Why do you think the Transport Secretary suggested the Lord Privy Seal? Why do you think the Lord Privy Seal suggested the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster? Why do you think he suggested the Lord President of the Council?’

I had to confess I knew nothing of all this.

Sir Humphrey continued relentlessly. ‘And why do you think they invited you to Number Ten behind my back?’ I must admit that this explanation never occurred to me. ‘Minister, this hideous appointment has been hurtling round Whitehall for the last three weeks like a grenade with the pin taken out.’

He may be right, of course. He’s usually pretty well up on all the gossip. But I was not about to concede the point. I felt that Humphrey’s attitude was coloured by sour grapes – sour grapes that I had been honoured in this way, and sour grapes that he hadn’t been consulted, either by them or by me.

‘If I can pull it off,’ I said carefully, ‘it will be a feather in my cap.’

‘If you pull it off,’ said Bernard, ‘it won’t be in your cap any more.’ I scowled at him, and he went pink and studied his shoes.

Sir Humphrey wasn’t impressed with my argument. He believes that if I do pull it off, no one will feel the benefits for ten years and long before that we will both have moved on. Or up. Or out.

‘In the meantime,’ he continued, ‘formulating policy means making choices. Once you make a choice you please the people you favour but you infuriate everyone else. This is liable to end up as one vote gained, ten lost. If you give a job to the road services, the Rail Board and unions will scream. If you give it to the railways, the road lobby will massacre you. If you cut British Airways’ investment plans they’ll hold a devastating press conference the same afternoon. And you can’t expand, because an overall saving is the Treasury’s fundamental requirement.’

I voiced the small hope that, as I am to be the Transport Supremo, my views might carry some weight.