The Complete Yes Minister

‘Remember Churchill,’ I said to Annie. ‘During all his wilderness years he got all his information about our military inadequacy and Hitler’s war machine from army officers. So all the time he was in the wilderness he leaked stories to the papers and embarrassed the government. That’s what I could do.’

I realised, as I spoke, that I’d chosen inappropriate words to express my feelings. I felt a little ridiculous as Annie said, ‘But you’re in the government.’ Surely she could see what I meant!

Anyway, the man finally arrived. He introduced himself as Major Saunders. He was about forty years old, and wore the de rigueur slightly shabby baggy blue pinstripe suit. Like all these chaps he looked like an overgrown prep school pupil.

He was not a frightfully good conversationalist to start with. Or perhaps he was just rather overawed to meet a statesman such as myself.

I introduced him to Annie and offered him a drink.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Scotch?’

‘Thanks.’

I told him to sit down.

‘Thanks.’

I told him there was no need to keep thanking me.

‘Thanks,’ he said, then corrected himself. ‘Sorry.’

Annie told him there was no need to apologise either.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I mean, thanks. I mean…’

Clearly my eminence was reducing this chap to a sort of jelly.

Annie offered to go and let us chaps talk in private, but for some reason he seemed anxious for her to stay. Can’t think why. Anyway, he asked if she could stay and of course I agreed.

‘I have no secrets from Annie,’ I explained. ‘I tell her everything.’

‘Several times, normally,’ she added cheerfully.

I do wish she wouldn’t make jokes like that. People might think that she means them.

I decided to establish whether the slightly cloak-and-dagger air about our meeting was, in fact, necessary. ‘Is this matter highly confidential?’ I asked.

‘Well, fairly,’ he replied, rather on edge. Clearly ‘fairly’ was a bit of traditional British understatement.

‘Shall I turn on the radio?’ I offered.

He seemed surprised. ‘Why — is there something good on?’

I don’t know what they teach these army chaps nowadays. I explained that I was suggesting that we play the radio to avoid being bugged. He asked if it was likely that we were being bugged. How does one know the answer to that? But then Annie reminded me that, as I am the Minister in charge of bugging politicians, it wasn’t awfully likely.

But Saunders was quite clear that he didn’t want our conversation to be on the record, even though I made it clear that I would take notes at the meeting if necessary (which indeed it was). He began by saying that what he was about to tell me he was telling me on a personal basis.

I asked him what he meant, precisely. I do like clarity in language.

‘I’m telling you personally,’ he repeated. ‘Not as Minister of Administrative Affairs.’

I could sort of see what he meant. But, on the other hand, I am Minister of Administrative Affairs. I sought further clarification.

‘Yes, I know you are,’ he said. ‘But I’m not telling you in that role. I’m telling you as a journalist.’

‘Are you a journalist?’ I was surprised. ‘I thought you were an army officer.’

‘No — you are a journalist.’

‘I’m a Minister.’

‘But — what were you before you became a Minister?’

‘Your starter for ten, no conferring,’ interrupted Annie facetiously. She’s always watched too much television and has always had a rather silly infatuation with Bamber Gascoigne merely because he’s charming and clever.

In any case, I’d now seen what Saunders was driving at. I put it into simple language, so that we were both clear about what we were both saying.

‘You’re telling me that what you’re telling me — and, incidentally, I don’t yet know what you’re telling me — but, whatever it is that you’re telling me, you’re telling me as the former Editor of Reform. Is that it?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘You were a very fine editor.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ I said modestly.

‘You’ve often said that,’ said Annie. Another of her bloody jokes. Sometimes she’s more hindrance than help.

We still hadn’t found a basis for my receipt of his confidential information. So I had to pursue our talks about talks, as it were. ‘How,’ I wanted to know, ‘do I prevent myself from knowing what you are telling me as a former journalist?’

I couldn’t see how I could help the Minister knowing if I knew.

‘I think he means it’s a question of hats, dear,’ said Annie. Of course it was. Perfectly bloody obvious. I tried to disguise my irritation.

‘Fine,’ I said, smiling. ‘I’m not wearing my Ministerial hat tonight. I understand that. But…’ and here I think I impressed him with the solemnity of my high office under the Crown, ‘… I must warn you: if I need to tell myself what you tell me, I won’t hesitate to do my duty and see that I am properly informed.’

‘Fine,’ agreed Major Saunders.

It seemed that at last we had some basis on which to open up our conversation. I waited with bated breath.