The Complete Yes Minister

‘One: if we do nothing we implicitly agree with the speech. Two: if we issue a statement we just look foolish. Three: if we lodge a protest it will be ignored. Four: we can’t cut off aid because we don’t give them any. Five: if we break off diplomatic relations we cannot negotiate the oil rig contracts. Six: if we declare war it just might look as if we were over-reacting.’ He paused. ‘Of course, in the old days we’d have sent in a gunboat.’

I was desperate by this time. I said, ‘I suppose that is absolutely out of the question?’

They all gazed at me in horror. Clearly it is out of the question.

Bernard had absented himself during Humphrey’s résumé of the possibilities. Now he squeezed back into the compartment.

‘The Permanent Under-Secretary to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office is coming down the corridor,’ he announced.

‘Oh terrific,’ muttered Bill Pritchard. ‘It’ll be like the Black Hole of Calcutta in here.’

Then I saw what he meant. Sir Frederick Stewart, Perm. Sec. of the FCO, known as ‘Jumbo’ to his friends, burst open the door. It smashed Bernard up against the wall. Martin went flying up against the washbasin, and Humphrey fell flat on his face on the bunk. The mighty mountain of lard spoke:

‘May I come in, Minister?’ He had a surprisingly small high voice.

‘You can try,’ I said.

‘This is all we needed,’ groaned Bill Pritchard as the quivering mass of flesh forced its way into the tiny room, pressing Bill up against the mirror and me against the window. We were all standing extremely close together.

‘Welcome to the Standing Committee,’ said Humphrey as he propped himself precariously upright.

‘What do we do about this hideous thing? This hideous speech, I mean,’ I added nervously, in case Jumbo took offence. His bald head shone, reflecting the overhead lamp.

‘Well now,’ began Jumbo, ‘I think we know what’s behind this, don’t we Humpy?’

Humpy? Is this his nickname? I looked at him with new eyes. He clearly thought I was awaiting a response.

‘I think that Sir Frederick is suggesting that the offending paragraph of the speech may be, shall we say, a bargaining counter.’

‘A move in the game,’ said Jumbo.

‘The first shot in a battle,’ said Humphrey.

‘An opening gambit,’ said Bernard.

These civil servants are truly masters of the cliché. They can go on all night. They do, unless stopped. I stopped them.

‘You mean, he wants something,’ I said incisively. It’s lucky someone was on the ball.

‘If he doesn’t,’ enquired Jumbo Stewart, ‘why give us a copy in advance?’ This seems unarguable. ‘But unfortunately the usual channels are blocked because the Embassy staff are all new and we’ve only just seen the speech. And no one knows anything about this new President.’

I could see Humphrey giving me meaningful looks.

‘I do,’ I volunteered, slightly reluctantly.

Martin looked amazed. So did Jumbo.

‘They were at University together.’ Humphrey turned to me. ‘The old-boy network?’ It seemed to be a question.

I wasn’t awfully keen on this turn of events. After all, it’s twenty-five years since I saw Charlie, he might not remember me, I don’t know what I can achieve. ‘I think you ought to see him, Sir Frederick,’ I replied.

‘Minister, I think you carry more weight,’ said Jumbo. He seemed unaware of the irony.

There was a pause, during which Bill Pritchard tried unsuccessfully to disguise a snigger by turning it into a cough.

‘So we’re all agreed,’ enquired Sir Humphrey, ‘that the mountain should go to Mohammed?’

‘No, Jim’s going,’ said Martin, and got a very nasty look from his overweight Perm. Sec. and more sounds of a press officer asphyxiating himself.

I realised that I had no choice. ‘All right,’ I agreed, and turned to Sir Humphrey, ‘but you’re coming with me.’

‘Of course, said Sir Humphrey, ‘I’d hardly let you do it on your own.’

Is this another insult, or is it just my paranoia?

Later today:

Charlie Umtali — perhaps I’d better call him President Selim from now on — welcomed us to his suite at the Caledonian Hotel at 10 a.m.

‘Ah Jim.’ He rose to greet us courteously. I had forgotten what beautiful English he spoke. ‘Come in, how nice to see you.’

I was actually rather, well, gratified by this warm reception.

‘Charlie,’ I said. We shook hands. ‘Long time no see.’

‘You don’t have to speak pidgin English to me,’ he said, turned to his aide, and asked for coffee for us all.

I introduced Humphrey, and we all sat down.

‘I’ve always thought that Permanent Under-Secretary is such a demeaning title,’ he said. Humphrey’s eyebrows shot up.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It sounds like an assistant typist or something,’ said Charlie pleasantly, and Humphrey’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. ‘Whereas,’ he continued in the same tone, ‘you’re really in charge of everything, aren’t you?’ Charlie hasn’t changed a bit.

Humphrey regained his composure and preened. ‘Not quite everything.’