The Complete Yes Minister

quite differently.’

‘Humphrey! Sin is not a branch of geography!’

But he argued that sin is a branch of geography, that in developing countries the size of the ‘extra-contractual payment’ is the means of showing how serious you are about the deal. When a multinational makes a big ‘political contribution’ it simply demonstrates that it expects big profits.

[It is like a publisher’s advance to an author. The one who pays the biggest advance is the one who is going for the biggest sales – Ed.]

‘You’re telling me,’ I asked, ‘that winking at corruption is government policy?’

‘Oh no Minister! That would be unthinkable. It could never be government policy. Only government practice.’

His double standards leave me quite breathless.

In the middle of this unprecedented discussion [Not so – Ed.] the press office rang. They wanted a statement about the Qumran bribery allegation. I had no idea what to say to them. I asked Humphrey for his help.

‘I’m sure the press office can draft something convincing and meaningless,’ he said obligingly. ‘That’s what they’re paid for, after all.’

I told him he was an appalling cynic. He took that as a compliment, remarking that a cynic is only a term used by an idealist to describe a realist.

I realised from his remark about the press office that he expected me to help with some cover-up if necessary. A shocking suggestion. Or implication, to be precise, since he hadn’t exactly suggested it. And then, I also realised I had an alternative.

‘I’ll tell the truth,’ I said abruptly.

‘Minister! What are you thinking of!’

‘I knew nothing of this. Why should I defend what I never approved?’

Then he trotted out all the usual stuff. That the contract is worth thousands of British jobs, and millions of export dollars, and that we can’t throw all that away for some small technical irregularity.

I explained, again, that it is not a small technical irregularity, but corruption!

‘No Minister, just a few uncontracted prepayments . . .’

I had heard enough. I was forced to explain to him that government is not just a matter of fixing and manipulating. There is a moral dimension.

‘Of course, Minister. A moral dimension. I assure you it is never out of my thoughts.’

‘So,’ I went on, ‘if this question comes up in the House, or if the papers start asking questions, I shall announce an inquiry.’

‘Excellent idea,’ he agreed. ‘I shall be more than happy to conduct it.’

I took a deep breath. ‘No Humphrey. Not an internal inquiry. A real inquiry.’

His eyes widened in horror. ‘Minister! You can’t be serious!’

‘A real inquiry!’ I repeated emphatically.

‘No, no, I beg you!’

‘The moral dimension.’ It really is time moral issues were made central to our government once again. And I’m the man to do it.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:⁴

It was shortly after the day that Hacker threatened a real inquiry into the Qumran deal that I went to Hacker’s London flat to collect him en route for an official visit to the Vehicle Licensing Centre in Swansea. Some morale-boosting was urgently called for down there, because the installation of the labour-saving computers had caused such delays that thousands more staff had been taken on to sort out the chaos. It looked as though larger computers would now be necessary, at some considerable public expense, partly in order to handle the situation and partly in order to avoid our having to lay off all the extra employees now working there. As job- creation was central to our strategy in the depressed or Special Development Areas [i.e. Marginal Constituencies – Ed.] it was important to find something for these chaps to do. Clearly Hacker was not able to make any useful contribution in that area, but Sir Humphrey felt that a goodwill visit from the Minister would keep things friendlier for the time being and would make it look as though something was being done while we all racked our brains and tried to think what!

In any event, to cut a long story short [too late – Ed.] I was standing in the Minister’s front hall chatting to Mrs Hacker, waiting for the Minister to finish dressing, when I saw the rosewater jar from Qumran, and commented that it looked awfully nice.

Mrs Hacker agreed enthusiastically, and added that a friend of hers had dropped in that day and had been frightfully interested.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ And then she dropped the bombshell. ‘Her name’s Jenny Goodwin – from The Guardian.’

‘The Guardian,’ I said, quietly stunned.

‘Yes. She asked me where it came from.’

‘A journalist,’ I muttered, aghast.

‘Yes. Well . . . The Guardian, anyway. She asked what it was worth, and I said about