‘I am fully-seized of your ideas and have taken them on board and I am now positively against discrimination against women and positively in favour of positive discrimination in their favour – discriminating discrimination of course.’
I think it was something like that. I got the gist of it anyway.
Then he went on, to my surprise: ‘I understand a view is forming at the very highest level that this should happen.’ I think he must have been referring to the PM. Good news.
Then, to my surprise he asked why the matter of equal opportunities for women should not apply to politics as well as the Civil Service. I was momentarily confused. But he explained that there are only twenty-three women MPs out of a total of six hundred and fifty. I agreed that this too is deplorable, but, alas, there is nothing at all that we can do about that.
He remarked that these figures were an indication of discrimination against women by the political parties. Clearly, he argued, the way they select candidates is fundamentally discriminatory.
I found myself arguing in defence of the parties. It was a sort of reflex action. ‘Yes and no,’ I agreed. ‘You know, it’s awfully difficult for women to be MPs – long hours, debates late at night, being away from home a lot. Most women have a problem with that and with homes, and husbands.’
‘And mumps,’ he added helpfully.
I realised that he was sending me up. And simultaneously trying to suggest that I too am a sexist. An absurd idea, of course, and I told him so in no uncertain terms.
I steered the discussion towards specific goals and targets. I asked what we would do to start implementing our plan.
Humphrey said that the first problem would be that the unions won’t agree to this quota.
I was surprised to hear this, and immediately suggested that we get them in to talk about it.
This suggestion made him very anxious. ‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘No. That would stir up a hornet’s nest.’
I couldn’t see why. Either Humphrey was paranoid about the unions – or it was just a ploy to frighten me. I suspect the latter. [
The reason I suspect a trick is that he offered no explanation as to why we shouldn’t talk to the union leaders. Instead he went off on an entirely different tack.
‘If I might suggest we be realistic about this . . .’ he began.
I interrupted. ‘By realistic, do you mean drop the whole scheme?’
‘No!’ he replied vehemently. ‘Certainly not! But perhaps a pause to regroup, a lull in which we reassess the position and discuss alternative strategies, a space of time for mature reflection and deliberation . . .’
I interrupted again. ‘Yes, you mean drop the whole scheme.’ This time I wasn’t asking a question. And I dealt with the matter with what I consider to be exemplary firmness. I told him that I had set my hand to the plough and made my decision. ‘We shall have a twenty-five per cent quota of women in the open structure in four years from now. And to start with I shall promote Sarah Harrison to Dep. Sec.’
He was frightfully upset. ‘No Minister!’ he cried in vain. ‘I’m sure that’s the wrong decision.’
This was quite a remarkable reaction from the man who had begun the meeting by telling me that I was absolutely right.
I emphasised that I could not be moved on this matter because it is a matter of principle. I added that I shall have a word with my Cabinet colleagues, who are bound to support me as there are a lot of votes in women’s rights.
‘I thought you said it was a matter of principle, Minister, not of votes.’
He was being too clever by half. I was able to explain, loftily, that I was referring to my Cabinet colleagues. For me it
A very satisfactory meeting. I don’t think he can frustrate me on this one.
Had a strange evening out with Annie. She collected me from the office at 5.30, because we had to go to a party drinks ‘do’ at Central House.
I had to keep her waiting a while because my last meeting of the day ran late, and I had a lot of letters to sign.
Signing letters, by the way, is an extraordinary business because there are so many of them. Bernard lays them out in three or four long rows, all running the full length of my conference table – which seats twelve a side. Then I whiz along the table, signing the letters as I go. It’s quicker to move me than them. As I go Bernard collects the signed letters up behind me, and moves a letter from the second row to replace the signed and collected one in the first row. Then I whiz back along the table, signing the next row.
I don’t actually read them all that carefully. It shows the extent of my trust for Bernard. Sometimes I think that I might sign absolutely anything if I were in a big enough hurry.
Bernard had an amusing bit of news for me today.
‘You remember that letter you wrote “Round objects” on?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Well,’ he said with a slight smile, ‘it’s come back from Sir Humphrey’s office. He commented on it.’
And he showed me the letter. In the margin Humphrey had written: ‘Who is Round and to what does he object?’
Anyway, I digress. While all this signing was going on, Annie was given a sherry by Humphrey in his office. I
