The Complete Yes Minister

I was getting exceedingly worried about my part in what appeared to be a cover-up. I explained this to the Perm. Sec., who insisted that this was not a cover-up, it was responsible discretion exercised in the national interest to prevent unnecessary disclosure of eminently justifiable procedures in which untimely revelation would severely impair public confidence.

This sounded even worse than I thought — like Watergate! However, Sir Humphrey explained to me that Watergate was quite different. Watergate happened in America.

March 4th

Today I did the broadcast on the Solihull project, about which I am beginning to feel a little uneasy.

I drove with BW [Bernard Woolley — Ed.] to BH [Broadcasting House — Ed.]. I asked Bernard if I had correctly diagnosed Sir Humphrey’s reasons for not wanting me to mention the Solihull project on the air. This question seemed to cause Bernard considerable anguish, but he merely shook his head slowly and sadly.

So I said to him: ‘What is Humphrey’s real reason for not wanting me to mention it?’

Bernard opted for answering my question with a question, i.e. not answering — ‘Did you not think he gave six or seven very convincing reasons, Minister?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Did you think that?’

He ducked that question too. ‘I’m sure,’ he said evasively, ‘that Sir Humphrey knows what he’s doing.’

I’m sure he does. I only wish that I knew what Sir Humphrey is doing!

I decided to approach it another way. I feel, and I don’t think I’m mistaken, that Bernard has a certain sense of loyalty towards me. So I asked him what he advised me to do.

This put him into a frightful state. ‘Well,’ he said, panicking, ‘it’s not for me to advise, Minister, but if it were, I would be obliged to advise you that you would be well advised to follow Sir Humphrey’s advice.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ he dithered. ‘It’s just that, well, um, certain projects have certain aspects which, with sensitive handling, given reasonable discretion, when events permit, there is no prima facie reason why, with appropriate give and take, if all goes well, in the fullness of time, um, when the moment is ripe, um, um…’

‘Bernard!’ I interrupted him. ‘You’re blathering, Bernard.’

‘Yes Minister,’ he agreed wretchedly.

‘Why are you blathering, Bernard?’ I enquired.

‘It’s my job, Minister,’ he replied, and hung his head.

Clearly he is keeping something from me. But what? Foolishly, perhaps out of spite, I resolved to talk about the project on the air and get the matter — whatever it is — out in the open.

But I now wonder if this was a mistake.

Anyway, we recorded the broadcast and I talked, at some length, with some enthusiasm, about the Solihull project.

[We have obtained the transcript of the broadcast discussion, and reproduce below the relevant pages. Those taking part were Hacker, Joe Morgan — General Secretary of the Commercial and Administrative Workers Union — and Sir George Conway, Chairman of International Construction Ltd — Ed.]

I didn’t have time to go for a drink in the Hostility Room afterwards, but as I was leaving Joe Morgan buttonholed me.

‘Oh,’ he said, as if spontaneously, ‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning this, Mr Hacker, but I wonder if you’d be able to put in a word for my members’ claim for a special Birmingham allowance?’

I naturally pointed out to him that I cannot conduct trades union negotiations in a BBC studio. Furthermore, it is a matter for the Department of Employment.

Then he made a curious remark. ‘I was thinking, see,’ he said, ‘that after this broadcast people might start asking questions about the Solihull project, wanting to know more about it, you understand?’

‘I hope they do,’ I said, stubbornly. Well, I do!

Then he said. ‘But, as we know…’ and he winked, ‘… there are some things…’ he winked again ‘… better not found out.’ Then he tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and winked again. ‘I’m sure we understand each other.’

He grinned and winked again. I began to suspect that he was trying to tell me something. But what? Or — and the more probable explanation suddenly flashed into my mind — he knows something and he thinks I know too. But whatever it is, I don’t!

I played for time. I watched him wink again and asked him if he had something in his eye. ‘Only a gleam,’ he replied cheerfully.

I must have looked awfully blank. But he must have thought I was an awfully good poker player. He continued: ‘Come off it, Hacker, we’ve got you by the short and curlies. I’m asking ten per cent below London Allowance, and we’ll settle for thirty per cent below. Give you the credit for beating us down.’