The Complete Yes Minister

to him would mean that I had blotted my copybook. On the other hand, Sir Humphrey was my Permanent Secretary, my career was to be in the Civil Service for the next thirty years, and I owed a loyalty there also.

This is why high-flyers are usually given a spell as Private Secretary. If one can walk the tightrope with skill and manage to judge what is proper when there is a conflict, then one may go straight to the top, as I did.

[‘Walking the tightrope’ is Sir Bernard’s phrase for betraying confidences from each side to the other while remaining undetected – Ed.]

After the Minister left his office I telephoned Graham Jones, Sir Humphrey Appleby’s Private Secretary. I let him know that the Minister had gone walkabout. I had no choice but to do this, as I had received specific instructions from Sir Humphrey that this should be discouraged [i.e. prevented. – Ed.].

I actually counted out ten seconds on my watch, from the moment I replaced the receiver, so well did I know the distance from his office to the Minister’s, and Sir Humphrey entered the office on the count of ‘ten’.

He asked me what had happened. Carefully playing it down, I told him that the Minister had left his own office. Nothing more.

Sir Humphrey seemed most upset that Hacker was, to use his words, ‘loose in the building’. He asked me why I had not stopped him.

As it was my duty to defend my Minister, even against the boss of my own department, I informed Sir Humphrey that (a) I had advised against it, but (b) he was the Minister, and there was no statutory prohibition on Ministers talking to their staff.

He asked me to whom the Minister was talking. I evaded the question, as was my duty – clearly the Minister did not want Sir Humphrey to know. ‘Perhaps he was just restless’ is what I think I said.

I recall Sir Humphrey’s irritable reply: ‘If he’s restless he can feed the ducks in St James’s Park.’

Again he asked who the Minister was talking to, and again I evaded – under more pressure by this time – by seeking confirmation that the Minister could talk to anyone he liked.

Sir Humphrey’s reply made it clear to me that he attached the greatest departmental importance to the issue. ‘I am in the middle of writing your annual report,’ he told me. ‘It is not a responsibility that either of us would wish me to discharge while I am in a bad temper.’ Then he asked me again to whom the Minister was talking.

I realised that I had gone as far as I safely could in defending the Minister’s interests. And yet as his Private Secretary, I had to be seen to be standing up for him.

So I resorted to a well-tried formula. I asked for Sir Humphrey’s help. Then I said: ‘I can quite see that you should be told if the Minister calls on an outsider. But I can’t see that it is necessary to inform you if he just wanted, to take a purely hypothetical example, to check a point with, say, Dr Cartwright. . . .’

He interrupted me, thanked me, and left the room. I called ‘4017’ after him – well, why not?

I had passed the test with flying colours. I had managed to see that Sir Humphrey knew what he wanted, without actually telling him myself.

The hypothetical example was, and is, an excellent way of dealing with such problems.

[Hacker’s diary continues – Ed.]

When I got to Cartwright’s office I certainly learned a thing or two. Cartwright was delighted to see me, and told me quite openly that I had been misled at yesterday’s meeting. I was intrigued.

‘But all those things they told me about South-West Derbyshire – aren’t they true?’

‘They may be, for all I know.’

I asked him precisely what he was saying. To my surprise I got a completely straight answer. I can see why he’s going to rise no higher.

‘I’m saying that, nevertheless, South-West Derbyshire is the most efficient local authority in the UK.’ And he blinked at me pleasantly from behind his half-moon reading glasses.

I was surprised, to say the least. ‘The most efficient? But I’m supposed to be ticking them off for being the least efficient.’

Then he showed the figures.

This in itself was a surprise, as I’d been told that they didn’t send us the figures. This was true – but no one had told me that they kept their own records perfectly well, which were available for us to see.

And the figures are impressive. They have the lowest truancy record in the Midlands, the lowest administrative costs per council house, the lowest ratio in Britain of council workers to rate income, and a clean bill of public health with the lowest number of environmental health officers.²

And that’s not all. It seems that virtually all the children can read and write, despite their teachers’ efforts to give them a progressive education. ‘And,’ Cartwright finished up, ‘they have the smallest establishment of social workers in the UK.’

From the way he reported this fact I gathered he thought that this was a good thing. I enquired further.

‘Oh yes. Very good. Sign of efficiency. Parkinson’s Law of Social Work, you see. It’s well known that social problems increase to occupy the total number of social workers available to deal with them.’

It was at this critical juncture that Sir Humphrey burst into Cartwright’s office. I believe that his arrival in Cartwright’s office at that moment was no coincidence.

We had a pretty stilted conversation.

‘Oh, Minister! Good Heavens!’

‘Oh. Hello Humphrey!’

‘Hello Minister.’