The Complete Yes Minister

Then for a moment, Frank gave me a tiny ray of hope. ‘Hold on, Jim.’ He grabbed the file. ‘Look, this report is dated before the election. You’re in the clear.’

‘Unfortunately,’ murmured Humphrey, ‘under the convention of Ministerial responsibility, the blame must fall . . .’

Frank interrupted him. ‘But everyone will know it wasn’t Jim.’

‘Quite so.’ Sir Humphrey shook his head mournfully. ‘But the principle of democratic accountability requires the occasional human sacrifice – Crichel Down and all that.² When the pack is baying for blood . . . isn’t that so, Minister?’

I couldn’t speak.

Frank was undeterred. ‘Surely he has only to point to the dates?’

‘Ah, well,’ Sir Humphrey put on his most pious expression, ‘a lesser man might try to wriggle out of it. But there is only one honourable course. As the Minister is well aware.’ He gazed at me sorrowfully and shook his head again. I felt I was at my own funeral.

‘Don’t you think Frank might have a point?’ I asked, determined to fight to the last.

‘Yes,’ said Bernard, ‘except that in that broadcast, which goes out . . .’

‘Today,’ I interjected.

‘. . . today,’ continued Bernard, ‘you publicly identified yourself with the success of the project. In fact, it’ll be on the air any minute now.’

We all gaped at each other. Then Bernard rushed for the radio.

I shouted, ‘Bernard, get on to the BBC and stop it.’

Humphrey said, ‘I wish you luck, Minister, but – well, you know what the BBC are like.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘but surely in a case like this, a crisis, an emergency, a scandal . . .’

‘Yes,’ he nodded, ‘if you put it like that, they might move it to peak listening time. And then repeat it. And film it for Panorama.’

‘I’ll order them to cancel it,’ I said.

‘MINISTER TRIES TO CENSOR BBC,’ said Humphrey, gloomily dreaming up headlines again.

I could see his point, of course. It was obviously hopeless. I was just about to suggest asking them very, very nicely when Bernard hurried in holding a transistor, and out of it came my voice saying all those dreadful things about government money and private investment in a real partnership, and how I took such a great personal interest in the Solihull project and how it is symbolic of everything this government is working for – concrete proof that our policy really works in practice.

I switched it off. I couldn’t bear to listen to it. We gazed at each other, bleakly, in silence.

I waited. Nobody spoke.

Eventually I did.

‘Humphrey,’ I asked quietly, ‘why did you let me say all that?’

‘Minister,’ he assumed his I’m-just-a-humble-civil-servant manner, ‘I can only advise. I did advise. I advised most strongly. But when an adviser’s advice is unheeded . . .’

He petered out, only too aware that he’d kept some rather vital information back from me.

‘Advise me now,’ I said coldly.

‘Certainly Minister.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Now, it is possible Bartletts Bank will take over from Sloane Enterprises, and all will be well.’

The bank! I’d never thought of that. It seemed too good to be true!

‘But . . .’ said Humphrey.

Clearly it was too good to be true.

‘But . . . the bank is hesitant. However, the Director in charge is retiring next year and is anxious for some appointment. The Chairmanship of a quango, for instance.’

I could see no problem at all. ‘Give him one,’ I said immediately. ‘Give him that one you were proposing that fool Desmond Glaze-brook for. Who is the Director in charge, anyway?’

‘Desmond Glazebrook,’ explained Humphrey.

Suddenly it all became clear.

I felt I had to leave a decent pause before I said that actually he’s not such a bad chap really.

Frank was extraordinarily slow on the uptake. ‘He’s always attacking the government,’ he said angrily.

I explained to Frank that it does us good to appoint our opponents occasionally. It’s democratic – statesmanlike.

Frank seemed unimpressed with this point of view, and he argued and argued till finally I just told him to shut up.

I asked Humphrey who else knew about this wretched Solihull Report. Only Joe Morgan, Humphrey told me – which suddenly explained his confident claim for a Birmingham Allowance. Blackmail!

And it occurred to me at that moment that Desmond Glazebrook might need a Deputy Chairman, one with real experience of industry. A trades unionist, perhaps. I mentioned it to Humphrey, who thought it was an awfully good idea, and he immediately suggested Joe Morgan. I thought that was an awfully good idea.

‘It takes two to quango, Minister,’ smiled Humphrey, and we got them both on the phone right away.

Frank watched us in silence, and when we’d had brief chats with Desmond and Joe he had an absolutely amazing outburst – ‘This is exactly what I’ve been talking about,’ he shouted, even louder than usual. ‘This is what’s wrong with the system. Jobs for the boys. Quid pro quo. Corruption.’ I couldn’t believe my ears, Frank accusing me of corruption. What an idea! He’s obviously going off his rocker.

‘What about my quango abolition paper?’ he yelled, going red in the face.