The Complete Yes Minister

There was no answer to this, so, in my most businesslike fashion, I closed the Buildings file. [In any case, it would have been impossible to sell all these government buildings simultaneously. If you put government property in London on the market all at once, you would destroy the market – like diamonds – Ed.]

I turned to Manpower. Here, I felt I was on rock-solid ground.

‘Apparently,’ I began, ‘there are ninety civil servants in Sunderland exactly duplicating the work of ninety others here in Whitehall.’

Humphrey nodded. ‘That stems from a cabinet decision. Job Creation in the North-East.’

At last we were in agreement about something. ‘Let’s get rid of them,’ I proposed.

Frank chimed in eagerly, ‘Yes, that would get rid of ninety civil servants at a stroke.’ Somehow, the way Frank spits out the words ‘civil servants’ makes them sound more contemptible than petty thieves. If I were a civil servant I think Frank’s style would offend me, though Sir Humphrey doesn’t seem too bothered, I must say.

But he picked up Frank’s phrase ‘at a stroke’. [Actually, Edward Heath’s phrase, originally applied to price reductions which, needless to say, never occurred – Ed.] ‘Or indeed,’ said Sir Humphrey, ‘at a strike.’

‘What?’ I said.

‘Personally, Minister, I should be wholeheartedly in favour of such a move. A considerable economy. But . . . I should remind you that it is a depressed area. Hence the original job creation scheme. It would show great political courage for the government to sack staff in a depressed marginal constituency.’

We sat for a while in silence. I must say, I think it was rather sporting of Humphrey to remind me that a marginal constituency was at stake. Normally civil servants take no interest in those vital political calculations.

Clearly, I couldn’t possibly risk a strike up there. But I was feeling really hopeless about these economies by now. I decided to put the ball back into Humphrey’s court.

‘Look, Humphrey,’ I said, ‘this is all very well . . . but . . . well, I just don’t believe that there are no savings to be made in the Civil Service. I see waste everywhere.’

‘I agree with you, Minister,’ came the reply, much to my surprise. ‘There is indeed scope for economy . . .’

‘Then . . .’ I interrupted, ‘. . . where, for God’s sake?’

And to my surprise, Sir Humphrey suddenly became very positive. ‘I sometimes feel that the whole way we do things is on too lavish a scale. You know, cars, furnishings, private office staff, entertainment, duplicating machines. . . .’

This was marvellous. I couldn’t agree more. I nodded enthusiastically.

‘There is a difficulty, however,’ he added. My heart sank again, but I waited to hear what it was. ‘It does cause profound resentment if those at the top continue to enjoy the convenience and comforts they have withdrawn from those below them, not to mention the deeply damaging publicity. . . .’

He broke off, and waited to see how I reacted. I wasn’t awfully keen, I must admit. It became clear that Humphrey’s scheme was that he and I should set a personal example. Economy begins at home, and we can’t expect others to do what we don’t do ourselves, and so forth.

I challenged Humphrey. ‘Would it really save that much?’

‘Directly, no,’ he said. ‘But as an example to the whole public service . . . incalculable!’

Then Frank came up with the decisive argument in favour of Humphrey’s plan. He pointed out that there would be lots of great publicity in it. He suggested the sort of newspaper headlines we’d be getting: THE MINISTER SHOWS THE WAY, or SLIMLINE GOVERNMENT, HACKER SETS EXAMPLE. We might even get a first-name headline: SAVE IT, SAYS JIM.

I gave Humphrey the okay to put the scheme into practice as soon as possible. I shall be interested to see how it works. At this moment, I have high hopes.

December 20th

Sunday morning. I’m writing this at home, in the constituency.

Haven’t had time to make any entries in the diary for some days because this economy drive is creating a lot of extra work for me. However, I’m sure it’s all going to be worth it.

It was a dreadful journey home on Friday night. I got home in the middle of the night. Annie had gone to bed. Apparently she’d made supper for us, and it had spoiled.

I’d tried to get a taxi to get me from Whitehall to Euston, but there was a thunderstorm and no taxis were available. So I’d gone by tube, carrying three red boxes which are immensely heavy when filled, and I’d missed the train at Euston. So I got home very tired and wet.

I apologised for waking Annie, and told her about my troublesome journey.

‘What happened to the chauffeur-driven car?’ she asked anxiously.