The Complete Yes Minister

I stuck to my guns. ‘Doing what’s right can be embarrassing. But that’s not an argument for not doing it.’

Vic ignored that. ‘You know we already sell arms to places like Syria, Chile and Iran?’

I did know. ‘That’s officially approved,’ I explained, meaning that it was therefore beside the point.

‘Quite,’ agreed Vic. ‘And you’re happy about what they do with them?’

I hesitated. ‘Well, obviously not entirely . . .’

‘Either you’re in the arms business or you’re not,’ said Vic with relentless logic.

At that point I became emotional. A big mistake. It’s all right to pretend to be emotional, especially in front of the public (or even with the House if it’s the right ploy for the moment), but with one’s colleagues – especially a cold fish like Vic – it cuts no ice at all.

‘If being in the arms business means being among criminals and murderers, then we should get out. It’s immoral.’

Vic lost his temper. He glowered at me with a mixture of anger and contempt. ‘Oh great. Great!’

I felt he really despised me. I could see him wondering how a boy scout like me had ever been allowed into the Cabinet. Or even into politics. ‘And is it moral to put a hundred thousand British workers out of a job? And what about the exports? Two billion pounds a year down the tube for starters. And what about the votes? Where do you think the government places all these weapons contracts?’

‘Marginal constituencies, obviously.’

‘Exactly,’ he said. QED, he implied.

But I still couldn’t quite leave it alone. I tried again. ‘Look Vic, all I’m saying is that now I know this is happening I have to tell the PM.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ I couldn’t understand the question. It seemed self-evident to me.

‘Just because you’ve caught something nasty,’ said Vic, ‘why do you have to wander about breathing over everyone?’

While I was considering my answer – or to be precise, wondering if I really had an answer – he turned the anglepoise lamp on the desk in my direction. He wasn’t exactly shining it in my eyes, but I did have the distinct feeling that I was being given the third degree.

And his next question did nothing to dilute the impression that I was under interrogation on account of suspect loyalty.

‘Are you happy in the Cabinet?’

‘Yes, of course I am.

‘You want to stay in it?’

My heart sank into my boots. I couldn’t speak. My loyalty was now in doubt. Oh my God! I nodded mutely.

‘Well then?’ He waited for me to say something.

I was sweating. And no longer thinking clearly enough. This was not the meeting that I had expected. I had expected to be on the attack. Instead I found myself fighting a desperate defensive. Suddenly my whole political future seemed to be on the line.

And I still stuck to my guns. I’m not quite sure why. I think I was confused, that’s all.

‘There is such a thing as duty,’ I heard myself say rather pompously. ‘There are times when you have to do what your conscience tells you.’

Vic lost his temper again. I could see why. Telling a Chief Whip that you have to follow your conscience really is like waving a red rag at a bull.

And this time it wasn’t a quiet irritable loss of temper. It was the Big Shout, for which he is famous throughout the Palace of Westminster. He leapt to his feet. ‘Oh for God’s sake!’ he yelled, obviously at the end of his tether.

His face came close to mine. Almost nose to nose. His angry bulging eyes were so near that they were slightly out of focus. He was utterly contemptuous of me now.

‘Must you go around flashing your petty private little individual conscience? Do you think no one else has got one? Haven’t you got a conscience about the survival of the government?’

‘Of course I have,’ I muttered, when the storm seemed to have abated temporarily.

He walked away, satisfied that at least I’d given one correct answer. ‘Here’s the PM on the verge of signing an international agreement on anti-terrorism . . .’

I interrupted, in self-defence. ‘I didn’t know about that,’ I explained.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know,’ snapped Vic contemptuously.

[It is not surprising that Hacker did not know about a new international anti-terrorist agreement. So far as we have been able to find out, there was none. Vic Gould presumably invented this on the spur of the moment – Ed.]

He came and sat beside me again. He tried to be patient. Or rather, he looked as though he was trying to be patient. ‘Can’t you understand that it’s essential to deal with the major policy aspects, rather than pick off a couple of little arms exporters and terrorist groups?’

I hadn’t seen it like that. Furthermore, I realised that I’d better see it like that, and quickly, or else Vic would go on shouting at me all day. ‘I suppose it is only a couple of little terrorist groups,’ I said weakly.