‘I shall go to Swansea,’ I said.
‘Is that a decision, Minister?’ asked Bernard.
‘That’s final,’ I said.
Frank then played his trump card. ‘The PM expects you to go to Newcastle,’ he said. Why hadn’t he said this till now, stupid man? I asked if he was sure. He nodded.
‘Bernard, I think I’d better go to Newcastle,’ I said.
‘Is that a decision?’ asked Frank.
‘Yes, that’s final,’ I said. ‘And now I’m going home.’
‘Is
that
a decision?’ asked Sir Humphrey. I wasn’t sure whether or not he was asking for clarification or sending me up. I still find him completely baffling. Anyway, he continued: ‘Minister, I think you’ve made the wrong decision, if I may say so. Your visit to Swansea is in the programme, it’s been announced, you can’t really get out of it.’
This was becoming impossible. They all seem to expect me to be in two places at once. I told them to find some way of getting me from Swansea to Newcastle – train, car, helicopter, I didn’t care how – and I would fulfil both engagements. ‘And now,’ I announced, ‘I’m going home – that’s final!’
‘Finally final?’ asked Bernard.
His intentions are equally obscure.
As I left, Bernard gave Roy, my driver, four red boxes and asked me to be sure to do them tonight because of all the Committee papers for tomorrow and letters that have to go off before the weekend.
‘And if you’re a good boy,’ said Frank in a rather poor imitation of Bernard’s accent, ‘your nanny will give you a sweetie.’
I really don’t have to put up with all this aggravation from Frank. I’m stuck with these damn permanent officials, but Frank is only there at my express invitation. I may have to remind him of this, very soon.
When I got home Annie was packing. ‘Leaving me at last?’ I enquired jovially. She reminded me that it is our anniversary tomorrow and we have arranged to go to Paris.
I was appalled!
I tried to explain to her about the trips to Swansea and Newcastle. She feels that she doesn’t want to spend her anniversary in Swansea and Newcastle, particularly not at a lunch for Municipal Treasurers at the Vehicle Licensing Centre. I can see her point. She told me to cancel my meetings, I said I couldn’t, so she said she’d go to Paris without me.
So I phoned Bernard. I told him it was my wife’s wedding anniversary – Annie said, ‘yours too’ – and mine too. Bernard made some silly joke about a coincidence. I told him I was going to Paris tomorrow, instead, and that it was final and that I knew I’d said it was final before but now this was really final – I told him he’d have to sort everything out. Then
he
talked for three minutes and when I rang off I was still going to Swansea and Newcastle tomorrow.
Those civil servants can talk you in or out of anything. I just don’t seem to know my own mind any more.
Annie and I fumed in silence for a while, and finally I asked her the really important question of the day: had she seen me on my TV interview – (I’d been in London, she’d been down in the constituency).
‘I saw someone who looked like you.’
I asked her what that was supposed to mean. She didn’t answer.
‘Frank said that I’m just a Civil Service mouthpiece,’ I muttered resentfully.
Annie said, ‘Yes.’
I was shocked. ‘You mean . . . you agree?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You could have hired an actor to say it all for you. He’d have said it better. And while you’re at it, why not just sign your letters with a rubber stamp or get an Assistant Secretary to sign them – they write them anyway.’
I tried to remain dignified. ‘Assistant Secretaries do not write my letters,’ I said. ‘Under-Secretaries write them.’
‘I rest my case, m’lud,’ she said.
‘You think I’ve become a puppet too?’
‘I do. Maybe they should get Miss Piggy to do your job. At least she’s prettier.’
I must say I was feeling pretty hurt and defeated. I sighed and sat on the bed. I honestly felt near to tears. Is this how a Cabinet Minister usually feels, I wondered, or am I just an abysmal failure? I couldn’t see what was wrong, but something certainly was.
‘I don’t know what to do about it,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m just swamped by the volume of work. I’m so depressed.’
Annie suggested that, as we weren’t going to Paris after all, we might at least go for a quiet little candlelit dinner on the corner. I told her that I couldn’t, because Bernard had told me to work through three red boxes tonight.
Annie said something which changed my whole perception of my situation. She said, ‘What do you mean, “Bernard’s told me!”? When you edited
Reform
you were quite different – you went in, you told people what to do, demanded what you wanted, and you got it! What’s changed? You’re the same man – you’re just allowing them to walk all over you.’
And, suddenly, I saw that it was true. She’s right. That’s why Frank has been getting at me too. Either I get them by the throat or they’ll get me by the throat! It’s the law of the jungle, just like in the Cabinet.
‘How many articles did you blue-pencil and tear up in those days?’ she asked.
‘Dozens,’ I remembered.
‘And how many official papers have you torn up?’
‘None,’ I told her. ‘I’m not allowed to.’
She smiled reproachfully at me, and I realised that I still hadn’t broken out of this destructive pattern of behaviour.
‘Not allowed to?’ She held my hand. ‘Darling, you’re the Minister. You can do anything you like.’
She’s right. I am. I can. And, somehow, all my officials have house-trained me. I see it now. Honestly, I’m so grateful to Annie, she has such remarkable common sense. Well, they’re going to get quite a surprise. Suddenly, I can’t wait to get to the office. My New Year Resolution is: Take Charge.
January 11th
Today was better.
But only a little better.
My
attitude was fine, but unfortunately
his
didn’t seem to change all that much.
I summoned Humphrey to my office. I don’t think he liked being summoned. Then I told him that Frank was absolutely correct, and Bob McKenzie too – the National Data Base has to be organised differently.
To my surprise, he agreed meekly. ‘Yes Minister,’ he murmured.
‘We are going to have all possible built-in safeguards,’ I went on.
‘Yes Minister,’ he murmured again.
‘Right away,’ I added. This took him by surprise.
‘Er . . . what precisely do you mean, right away?’
‘I mean right away,’ I said.
‘Oh I see, you mean
right away
, Minister.’
‘Got it in one, Humphrey.’
So far, so good. But, having totally accepted at the start of the conversation that it was all to be different, he now started to chip away at my resolve.
‘The only thing is,’ he began, ‘perhaps I should remind you that we are still in the early months of this government and there’s an awful lot to get on with, Minister . . .’
I interrupted. ‘Humphrey,’ I reiterated firmly, ‘we are changing the rules of the Data Base. Now!’
‘But you can’t, Minister,’ he said, coming out into the open.
‘I can,’ I said, remembering my stern talk from Annie last night, ‘I’m the Minister.’
He changed tactics again. ‘Indeed you are, Minister,’ he said, rapidly switching from bullying to grovelling, ‘and quite an excellent Minister at that, if I may say so.’
I brushed all the flannel aside. ‘Never mind the soft soap, Humphrey,’ I replied. ‘I want all citizens to have the right to check their own file, and I want legislation to make unauthorised access to personal files illegal.’
‘Very well,’ said Sir Humphrey. ‘It shall be done.’
This rather took the wind out of my sails. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Then we go ahead,’ I said, wondering what the catch was.
I was right. There was a catch. Sir Humphrey took this opportunity to explain to me that we can go ahead, if the Cabinet agrees, and take the matter to the Ministerial Committee, and then we can go ahead to the Official Committee. After that, of course, it’s all plain sailing – straight to the Cabinet Committee! And then back to Cabinet itself. I interrupted to point out that we’d
started
with Cabinet.
‘Only the policy, Minister,’ explained Sir Humphrey. ‘At this juncture Cabinet will have to consider the specific proposals.’
I conceded the point, but remarked that after going back to Cabinet we could then go ahead. Sir Humphrey agreed – but with the proviso that if Cabinet raises any questions, which it almost certainly would, the proposals would then have to go back to the Ministerial Committee, the Official Committee, the Cabinet Committee and the Cabinet again.
‘I know all this,’ I said brusquely. ‘I’m assuming that Cabinet will raise no objections.’ Sir Humphrey raised his eyebrows and visibly refrained from comment.
I didn’t know all this at all, actually – the complex mechanics of passing legislation don’t ever really become clear to you in Opposition or on the back benches.
‘So after Cabinet, we go ahead. Right?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘to the Leader of the House Committee. And then to Parliament – where there’s the Committee stage of course.’
But suddenly the penny dropped. Suddenly I realised he was blurring the whole issue. A blindfold dropped away from my eyes, as if by magic. ‘Humphrey,’ I said, ‘you’re talking about legislation – but
I’m
talking about administrative and procedural changes.’
Sir Humphrey smiled complacently. ‘If members of the public are to have the right to take legal action, then legislation is necessary and it will be very complicated.’
I had the answer to that. ‘Legislation is not necessary in order for the citizen to be able to see his own file, is it?’
Sir Humphrey thought carefully about this. ‘No-o-o-o,’ he finally said, with great reluctance.
‘Then we’ll go ahead with that.’ Round one to me, I thought.
But Sir Humphrey had not yet conceded even that much. ‘Minister,’ he began, ‘we could manage that
slightly
quicker, but there are an awful lot of administrative problems as well.’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘this must have come up before. This Data Base has been in preparation for years, it hasn’t just materialised overnight – these problems must have been discussed.’
‘Yes indeed,’ he agreed.
‘So what conclusions have been reached?’ I asked.
Sir Humphrey didn’t reply. At first I thought he was thinking. Then I thought he hadn’t heard me, for some curious reason. So I asked him again: ‘What conclusions have been reached?’ a little louder, just in case. Again there was no visible reaction. I thought he’d become ill.
‘Humphrey,’ I asked, becoming a little concerned for his health and sanity, ‘can you hear me?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ he replied, through unsealed lips.
I asked him what exactly he meant.
‘I am not at liberty to discuss the previous government’s plans,’ he said. I was baffled.
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Minister – would you like everything that you have said and done in the privacy of this office to be revealed subsequently to one of your opponents?’
I’d never thought of that. Of course, I’d be absolutely horrified. It would be a constant threat. I would never be able to speak freely in my own office.
Sir Humphrey knew that he’d scored a bull’s-eye. He pressed home his advantage. ‘We cannot give your political opponents ammunition against you – nor vice versa.’
Of course, I can see his point but there is one essential difference in this instance. I pointed out to Sir Humphrey that Tom Sargent was my predecessor, and he wouldn’t mind. He’s a very decent chap. After all, the Data Base is not a party political matter, politicians of all parties are united on this.
But Sir Humphrey wouldn’t budge. ‘It’s the principle, Minister,’ he said, and added that it just wouldn’t be cricket.
This was a powerful argument. Naturally I don’t want to do anything that’s not cricket. So I suppose I’ll never know what went on before I came here. I can’t see a way round that.
So where have we got to? We’ve established that we don’t need legislation to enable the citizen to see his own file, but that there are numerous unspecified admin. problems that have to be solved first.
One other thing occurred today. Bernard said that because of the adverse (Bernard called it ‘not entirely favourable’) press reaction to my appearance on
Topic
, the other network wants me to appear on their programme
World in Focus
. Funny how television is never interested when you’ve got an important announcement to make, but the moment some trivial thing goes wrong the phone never stops ringing. At first I told him to decline, but he said that if I don’t appear they’ll do the item anyway, and no one will be there to state my case.
I asked Humphrey what I was to say about safeguards for the Data Base, in view of our very limited progress today. ‘Perhaps you could remind them, Minister, that Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
Big help!
As I review the meeting, writing it all down for this diary, I now feel that I got absolutely nowhere today. But there must be
some
way to get Sir Humphrey and the DAA to do what I tell them.
[
In the light of Hacker’s experience and frustrations, it is as well to remember that if a Whitehall committee is not positively stopped, it will continue. There could be a Crimea committee, for all we know. There is very probably a ration-book committee and an identity-card committee – Ed
.]
January 12th
Today, by a lucky chance, I learned a bit more about dealing with Sir Humphrey.
I bumped into Tom Sargent, in the House of Commons smoking room. I asked if I could join him, and he was only too pleased.