The Complete Yes Minister

‘The Royal Opera House,’ I explained, ‘gets about nine and a half million pounds a year of public money. For what? The public can’t afford to buy thirty- or forty-quid seats for gala nights – and even if they could, they can’t get them, there aren’t enough. The audience consists almost entirely of big business executives, block-booked by the banks and oil companies and multinationals – and people like you, Humphrey. The Royal Opera House is for the Establishment at play. Why should the workers on the terraces foot the bill for the gentry in the stalls who can well afford to pay the full price for their seats?’

He stared at me as though I’d been brought in by the cat. I waited for a response. Bernard was studying his empty notepad intently.

Finally Sir Humphrey spoke. Very quietly. ‘Minister, I am frankly appalled! This is savagery! Barbarism! That a Minister of the Crown should say such things – this is the end of civilisation as we know it. And it’s a gross distortion of the truth.’

Emotive language from Humphrey! He was indeed upset. I, on the other hand, wasn’t a bit upset and was thoroughly enjoying myself.

‘A distortion, eh?’ I replied cheerfully.

‘Yes indeed. Art cannot survive without public subsidy.’

I wound him up some more. ‘Did Shakespeare have public subsidy?’

‘Yes of course he did.’

‘No he didn’t, he had patronage. That’s quite different. It’s a rich man spending his own money, not a committee spending other people’s. Why can’t the theatre live on its wits? Is it good for art to be dependent on officials and committees? Not necessarily!’

Humphrey made incoherent choking noises. I put up my hand regally, to silence him.

‘And, if you persist in arguing in favour of subsidy, what about films? Films are art. Films are educational. Films are – God forbid! – popular with the public. More than opera, anyway. So why has the Establishment ignored film subsidy?’

He tried to reply, but I refused to yield the floor. I was having much too good a time. ‘I’ll tell you. Simply because people like you prefer opera.’

Humphrey finally broke. He shouted me down before I’d finished speaking. This has never been known before. ‘Minister, films are commercial!’ He said this with all the contempt of a man who lives in a very high publicly-funded ivory tower.

Then he stood up. Clearly he was not prepared for me to bring the meeting to a close, as is the normal protocol. He had had enough, and was leaving.

‘If you will excuse me, Minister, I have to leave early tonight. I simply cannot continue with this appalling discussion.’ And he walked swiftly to the door.

I asked him where he was going in such a hurry.

He instantly slowed down and, his eyes moving shiftily from side to side, replied that he was going nowhere in particular.

I didn’t like his walking out on me, and I told him that I insisted we talk the matter through. Apart from the immense pleasure of winding him up, I wanted to establish that my constituency affairs were nothing to do with him. Also, I was instinctively suspicious.

‘I can’t talk about this any further,’ he said, flapping a bit and looking at his watch. ‘I have to dress . . . I mean . . .’

He faltered and looked at me like a guilty hamster.

What a wonderful coincidence. I smiled lazily. ‘Dress?’ I asked as casually as I could. ‘Where are you going?’

He drew himself up and squared his shoulders.

‘Since you insist on knowing – I’m going to the Royal Opera House.’

‘Gala performance, is it?’

‘Yes it is, since you ask.’

‘Lots of Permanent Secretaries going to be there?’

‘Some, no doubt.’

I waved him away. ‘Off you go, then,’ I said graciously. ‘I don’t want to make you late for your works’ outing.’

He stared at me through narrow little eyes, filled with pure hatred. I smiled back at him.

‘Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it? What’s on tonight, by the way?’

‘The Flying Dutchman.’

‘Ah. Another of our European partners.’

He turned his head and swept out. I’d never enjoyed a meeting so much in my whole life. Bernard, I think, had never enjoyed one less.

[At the Opera that evening Sir Humphrey Appleby had a drink in the Crush Bar with Sir Ian Whitworth, Permanent Secretary of the Department of the Environment. We have found an account of the meeting in Appleby’s private diary – Ed.]

Had a chat with Ian W. over a couple of large G and Ts and those delicious little smoked salmon sandwiches in the Crush Bar.