The Complete Yes Minister

‘Yes, but not ferrets, Minister,’ said Sir Humphrey sharply, eyeing Frank. ‘Ladysmith Buildings is top secret.’

‘How,’ I asked sarcastically, ‘can a seven-storey building in Walthamstow be a secret?’

‘Where there’s a will there’s a way,’ replied Humphrey, with (I think) a twinkle in his eye. It was all quite amicable, but I could see that he had no intention of discussing anything that was remotely to do with security while Frank was present. I had no intention of asking Frank to leave, so, reluctantly, I was forced to move on to the next two white elephants.

‘Wellington House, Hyde Park Road. Estimated value, seven and a half million pounds. Westminster Old Hall, Sackville Square, estimated value, eleven million pounds. Both buildings with a tiny staff, and entirely full of filing cabinets.’

‘May I ask the source of these valuations?’ Sir Humphrey enquired.

‘Going rate for office property in the area,’ said Frank.

‘Ah. Unfortunately,’ said Sir Humphrey in his most helpful tone, ‘neither building would actually fetch the going rate.’

I asked why not.

‘Wellington House has no fire escape or fire doors and the fabric of the building would not stand the alteration, so it can’t be sold as offices.’

‘Then how can we use it?’ enquired Frank aggressively.

‘Government buildings do not need fire safety clearance.’

‘Why?’ demanded Frank.

‘Perhaps,’ Humphrey offered, ‘because Her Majesty’s Civil Servants are not easily inflamed.’ This time he chuckled. Another of his little jokes. He seemed to be increasingly pleased with himself. I don’t care for this.

[In fact, government buildings have to comply with most statutory fire requirements, but not with regard to means of escape! – Ed.]

We were not getting very far with our economies, so I asked why Westminster Old Hall couldn’t be sold as offices.

‘It’s a Class One listed building. Can’t change current user designation. The Environment, you know.’

We were getting nowhere fast. Frank moved on, and suggested we sold 3 to 17 Beaconsfield Street.

‘That,’ said Sir Humphrey, ‘has a three-level reinforced-concrete basement.’

‘So?’ I said.

‘It is there in case,’ said Sir Humphrey. I waited for him to complete his sentence, but after a while it became apparent that he thought he had already done so.

‘In case?’ I asked eventually.

‘You know, Minister,’ he said, his voice pregnant with hidden meaning. ‘Emergency Government Headquarters, if and when.’

I was baffled. ‘If and when what?’

Humphrey was now at his most enigmatic. ‘If and when . . . you know what,’ he replied so quietly that I could hardly hear him.

‘What?’ I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.

‘If and when you know what?’

‘I don’t know what,’ I said confused. ‘What?’

‘What?’ Now Sir Humphrey seemed confused.

‘What do you mean, if and when you know what? If and when, I know what – what?’

At last Humphrey decided to make his meaning clear. ‘When the chips are down, Minister, and the balloon goes up and the lights go out . . . there has to be somewhere to carry on government, even if everything else stops.’

I considered this carefully for a few moments. ‘Why?’ I asked.

Humphrey appeared to be absolutely staggered by this question. He explained to me, as if I were a backward five-year-old, ‘Government doesn’t stop merely because the country’s been destroyed. Annihilation is bad enough, without anarchy to make it even worse.’

Obviously Humphrey was concerned about the danger of a lot of rebellious cinders.

However, this is clearly an MoD matter [Ministry of Defence matter – Ed.] and I can see it is beyond my power to do anything about 3 to 17 Beaconsfield Street.

There was one more virtually unused building on Frank’s list. It was my last shot. ‘What about the Central Registry?’ I enquired, without any real hope.

‘No planning permission,’ said Sir Humphrey, with a bland smile of a man who knows he’s won five rounds and is way ahead on points.

Frank suddenly intervened. ‘How does he know all this?’ he enquired belligerently, and turned accusingly to Sir Humphrey. ‘You knew where I’d been.’

This hadn’t occurred to me, but Frank was obviously right. I was about to lay into Humphrey on that score, when Humphrey said to me, most disarmingly: ‘Of course we knew where he’d been. Why, was he supposed to be spying?’

I wasn’t ready for that particular googly. I realised at once that I was on a very sticky wicket.

Humphrey pressed home his advantage. ‘I mean, we do believe in open enquiries, don’t we?’