The Complete Yes Minister

I was aware of all this, naturally, but I regarded it as ancient history. Humphrey thinks that it is, in fact, current policy. It was necessary for us to break up the EEC, he explained, so we had to get inside. We had previously tried to break it up from the outside, but that didn’t work. [A reference to our futile and short-lived involvement in EFTA, the European Free Trade Association, founded in 1960 and which the UK left in 1972 — Ed.] Now that we’re in, we are able to make a complete pig’s breakfast out of it. We have now set the Germans against the French, the French against the Italians, the Italians against the Dutch… and the Foreign Office is terribly happy. It’s just like old times.

I was staggered by all of this. I thought that all of us who are publicly pro-Europe believed in the European ideal. I said this to Sir Humphrey, and he simply chuckled.

So I asked him: if we don’t believe in the European ideal, why are we pushing to increase the membership?

‘Same reason,’ came the reply. ‘It’s just like the United Nations. The more members it has, the more arguments you can stir up, and the more futile and impotent it becomes.’

This all strikes me as the most appalling cynicism, and I said so.

Sir Humphrey agreed complacently. ‘Yes Minister. We call it diplomacy. It’s what made Britain great, you know.’

Frank, like the terrier that he is, wanted to continue worrying away at the problem of the Europass. ‘How will the other EEC countries feel about having to carry identity papers? Won’t they resist too?’

Sir Humphrey felt not. ‘The Germans will love it, the French will ignore it, and the Italians and Irish will be too chaotic to enforce it. Only the British will resent it.’ He’s right, of course.

I must say that, to me, it’s all beginning to look suspiciously like a plot to get rid of me. Frank doesn’t subscribe to a conspiracy theory on this occasion, on the grounds that I’m to be got rid of anyway as my department is to be abolished.

But I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that the PM just wants to make absolutely sure. Frank told me not to be paranoid, but I think he’d be paranoid if everyone were plotting against him.

‘We’re on your side, Minister.’ Sir Humphrey was trying to be comforting. Life is full of surprises!

Then I had an idea. I suddenly realised that Martin will be on my side. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it before. He’s Foreign Secretary — and, to my certain knowledge, Martin is genuinely pro-Europe. (Humphrey calls him ‘naïf’). Also I ran his campaign against the PM, and he only stands to lose if I’m squeezed out.

We’ve arranged a meeting with him on Monday, at the House. I can’t think how he can help, exactly, but between us we may find some lever.

February 8th

All is well. The battle is won. My career, Humphrey’s career, and the DAA have all been saved by a brilliant piece of political opportunism, of which I am extremely proud. Plus a little bit of luck, of course. But it’s been a very satisfactory day.

We all gathered conspiratorially at Martin’s office. He was full of his usual second-rate witticisms.

‘You’ve done a Samson act, Jim.’

I, presumably, looked blank.

‘You see, you wanted to reduce the Civil Service, and you’ve done it. You’ve pulled the whole superstructure down — and buried yourself.’

I didn’t know whether I was supposed to smile, or congratulate him on his wit, or what.

Sir Humphrey, of course, couldn’t wait to join the analogy game. ‘A Pyrrhic victory,’ he intoned mournfully, presumably to remind us all that he is a classicist.

‘Any ideas?’ I asked Martin.

He had none. So we all had another of our tremendous gloomy silences.

Frank, fortuitously as it turned out, continued worrying away at the puzzle of why the PM wanted to introduce a Europass. ‘I don’t understand it. It doesn’t make sense. Why can’t the PM see the damage it’s going to do to the government?’

I agreed, and remarked that this Europass thing is the worst disaster to befall the government since I was made a member of the Cabinet. [We don’t think that Hacker actually meant what he seems to be saying here — Ed.]

Martin was quite calm about the Europass. ‘Everyone knows it won’t happen,’ he said.

Who does he mean by ‘everyone’? I certainly didn’t know it wouldn’t happen — but then, I didn’t even know it would happen till yesterday.

‘The PM,’ continued Martin, ‘has to play along with it till after the Napoleon Prize is awarded.’

Apparently the Napoleon Prize is a NATO award, given once every five years. A gold medal, big ceremony in Brussels, and £100,000. The PM is the front runner. It’s awarded to the statesman who has made the biggest contribution to European unity since Napoleon. [That’s if you don’t count Hitler — Ed.]