The Complete Yes Minister

Bernard and I gazed at each other in despair. ‘I wonder what sort of angle they’ll take?’ I said.

‘Wide angle, I should think.’ I glared at him. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Sorry.’

All I could think of was the fun the Opposition was going to have with this, next time I had to face questions in the House. ‘Does the proud father want to make a statement?’ ‘Is the Minister’s family getting too much exposure?’ ‘Did the Minister try to conduct a cover-up?’ Or even: ‘Does the Minister run the Department of Administrative Affairs any better than he runs his family?’

I mentioned the last question to Bernard, because it is my Achilles’ heel. I added bitterly that I supposed Bernard would want me to tell the world that Sir Humphrey runs the Department.

Bernard seemed genuinely shocked.

‘Certainly not, Minister, not I,’ he said indignantly. ‘I am your Private Secretary.’

‘You mean,’ I enquired disbelievingly, ‘that when the chips are down, you’ll be on my side, not Humphrey’s?’

Bernard answered very simply: ‘Minister, it is my job to see that the chips stay up!’

[This is, in fact, a precise definition of the Private Secretary’s role — Ed.]

At that moment Lucy rang in. She was in a call-box. I grabbed the phone. First I tried bluffing. ‘I got your little note,’ I said, trying to laugh it off. ‘You know, for a moment I was taken in. I thought it was serious.’ My little laugh sounded false even to me.

‘It is serious,’ she replied coldly. ‘Pete and I are just going to ring the Exchange Telegraph and Press Association, and then we’re off to the Spinney.’

Then I grovelled. I begged her to think of the damage to me. She replied that it was the badgers who were going to be exterminated, not I.

She’s quite wrong about that! This could have been the end of a promising career.

It was clear that she was about to go ahead with her dreadful plan, because I couldn’t change my policy on her account, when Humphrey came running through the door waving a file. I’ve never seen him run before. He was burbling on about a new development and asked if he could speak to Lucy.

He took the phone, opened the file and began to explain his finding. ‘I have just come upon the latest report from the Government’s Wildlife Inspectors. It throws a new light on the whole issue.’

He went on to explain that, apparently, there is no badger colony in Hayward’s Spinney. Apparently the wording of the report says: ‘The last evidence of badger habitation — droppings, freshly-turned earth, etc. — was recorded eleven years ago.’

Lucy was plainly as astonished as Bernard and I. I was listening in on my other phone. So was Bernard, on his. She asked how come the newspaper had said badgers were there. Humphrey explained that the story about the poor badgers had been leaked to the press, untruthfully, by a local property developer.

Lucy was immediately willing to believe Humphrey. As far as the Trots are concerned, property developers are Satan’s representatives on earth. She asked for the explanation.

‘The Local Authority have plans to use the Spinney to build a new College of Further Education, but the developer wants to buy it for offices and luxury flats.’

‘But,’ interrupted Lucy, ‘if it’s protected, he can’t.’

‘No,’ agreed Sir Humphrey, ‘but nor can the Council. And he knows that, if they can’t, they’ll spend the money on something else. Then, in twelve months, he’ll move in, show that there’s no badgers after all, get the protection removed and build his offices.’

From the complete silence, I could tell that Lucy was profoundly shocked. Then Humphrey added: ‘It’s common practice among property developers. Shocking isn’t it?’

I had no idea Humphrey felt this way about property developers. I had thought he rather liked them.

Lucy asked Humphrey if there was any wildlife at all in the Spinney.

‘Yes, there is some,’ said Humphrey, looking through the file. ‘It’s apparently been used as a rubbish dump by people from Birmingham, so there are lots of rats.’

‘Rats,’ she said quietly. Lucy hates rats.

‘Yes, thousands of them,’ said Humphrey and added generously, ‘Still, I suppose they’re wildlife too, in their way.’ He paused and then remarked: ‘It would be a pity to play into the developer’s hands, wouldn’t it?’

‘I suppose it would,’ she answered. Clearly the Save-the-Badgers vigil was off!

Humphrey added, with great warmth and total hypocrisy: ‘But do let me say how much I respect your views and commitment.’

She didn’t ask to speak to me again. She just rang off. The crisis was over as suddenly as it had begun. There was no way she was going to conduct a nude love-in with lots of rats in the vicinity — other than the press, of course.

I congratulated Humphrey profusely. ‘It was nothing, Minister,’ he said self-effacingly, ‘it was all in the files.’

I was amazed by the whole thing. What a cunning bastard that property developer must be. I asked Humphrey to show me the report.