The Complete Yes Prime Minister

THE COMPLETE YES PRIME MINISTER
The Diaries of the Right Hon. James Hacker

Jonathan Lynn & Antony Jay
London: BBC, 1989.

In memory of Nigel Hawthorne (Sir Humphrey Appleby), 1929 2001

Editors Note

Hackers unexpected elevation to the Premiership, which occurs at the end of the first chapter of this volume, created almost as many problems for his editors as it did for Britain. He was determined that his diaries should portray his period in office as a series of triumphs, even though the task would have defeated a far more skilful diarist. History dealt somewhat roughly with Hacker as Prime Minister; but readers of his full diaries will see some justice in this, since Hacker as an author dealt even more roughly with history. It may be that the office of Prime Minister encouraged him -- as in others -- a progressive separation from reality, and a breaking down of the barrier between fact and imagination as he dictated, alone with his customary glass of Scotch and his cassette recorder, a version of the days events in which he relived his successes and reinterpreted his failures.
Grateful though we are for the honour of editing and transcribing these extensive tape recordings, we were astonished to discover that, at times, Hacker seems to have decorated and rearranged past events in order to present himself in a favourable light. Indeed, surprising though it may be to a modern reader, he seems positively confident that this goal can be achieved. We cannot believe that any politician would rearrange past events deliberately in order to distort the historical record, and so we have had to assume that Hacker had some strange defect of mind that frequently led him to ask not What did I do? but What is the most impressive explanation of my actions that cannot be disproved by published facts?
The reader of political memoirs will know that most politicians memoirs are models of fairness and accuracy, suffused with generosity of spirit, making no attempts to justify past errors. Politicians generally write of their colleagues with a warmth and admiration which is only equalled by their modest deprecation of their own contribution to government. They seldom try to pretend or suggest that every measure they proposed turned out to be successful, nor do they claim to have warned against every decision that led to disaster. Politicians are a noble breed of men, who by their dedication and selfless public service have made Britain what she is today.
Indeed, the sad task of the editors of most political memoirs is to compel the politicians, who have the deepest reluctance to comply with this demand, to inject sufficient controversy, distortion and malice into their books for the publisher to have a chance of selling the serial rights to the Sunday Times.
Why was Hacker different? Perhaps the most likely explanation is that elevation to high office actually made him come to see language in a different way. Politicians are simple, direct people. They are accustomed to saying what they mean in a straightforward manner. But prolonged exposure to the Civil Service, as personified by Sir Humphrey Appleby, may have led Hacker to see language not as a window into the mind but as a curtain to draw across it.
Hacker devoted a great deal of time to talking into his cassette recorder. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that he had a sort of love affair with it. Finally it was the only thing in the world that was willing to listen to him uncritically. And not only would it listen -- it would repeat his own ideas and thoughts to him, a quality that Prime Ministers find very reassuring.
Hackers recollections would thus be a very imperfect record of his period at Number Ten Downing Street were it not for the other documentation which has so generously been made available to us. Once again we have made copious use of the voluminous Appleby Papers, which contain Sir Humphreys private diaries, letters and memoranda, and we would like to express our gratitude to his widow, his trustees, his executors, and the Public Record Office which has generously released all possible documents under the Thirty Year rule. We are especially grateful also to Sir Bernard Woolley GCB, formerly Hackers Principal Private Secretary at Number Ten Downing Street and eventually Head of the Home Civil Service, who has again given us his own recollections and checked this volume for historical accuracy, a thankless task indeed. The responsibility for all errors, whether of omission or commission, remains entirely our own.

Hacker College, Oxford May, 2024 AD

Jonathan Lynn
Antony Jay

PARTY GAMES

December 6th

Sir Humphreys up to something. When I saw him yesterday at the Department of Administrative Affairs he was in a sort of dream and he seemed quite unable to concentrate on my problems with the Eurosausage, which is the latest idiotic standardisation fight that I have to have with our European enemies. [Or European partners, as Hacker referred to them in public Ed.]
But more of that in a moment. Sir Humphrey normally has a real zest and enthusiasm for bureaucratic battles, and he has been strangely subdued lately. No doubt hes plotting something. I suppose Ill find out soon enough -- if not, Im in trouble!
Meanwhile, today was mostly spent on routine business. I was wading through some Cabinet Defence Papers in the Office this morning when Bernard interrupted me.
Excuse me, Minister, but Im afraid you have to deal with something that is much more urgent.
I asked what.
Your Christmas cards, Minister. They cannot be postponed any longer.
Bernard was right. Getting the Christmas cards out is much more important than reading Cabinet Defence Papers -- unless youre the Secretary of State for Defence, I suppose.
[Hacker, like many politicians, was apparently unable to distinguish between Urgent and Important. Bernard had described the Christmas cards as the former. Hacker assumed that he meant the latter. On the other hand, the possibility exists that Hacker was right in describing the Christmas cards as much more important. As a mere member of the Cabinet his influence over defence matters would be negligible. So would the information contained in the papers he would be shown Ed.]
Bernard had laid out large piles of DAA [Department of Administrative Affairs] Christmas cards along the conference table. The piles were all different sizes. Clearly they were divided for a reason.
Bernard proffered the reason. Theyre all clearly labelled, Minister. He strolled along the table, casually indicating each pile in turn as if he were reviewing a Guard of Honour. These you sign Jim. These you sign Jim Hacker. These, Jim and Annie. These are Annie and Jim Hacker. These, love from Annie and Jim. These Mrs. Hacker should write, and you should append your name.
I spotted two more piles. What about those?
Those are printed. And those have cyclostyled signatures, so you neednt write anything. Just check to whom theyre being sent, to make sure theyre not going to people to whom you should have sent a personally signed card. You know, he added in explanation, signed Jim, or Jim Hacker, or Jim and Annie, or Annie and Jim Hacker.
There was yet another large batch at the end of the table, subdivided into several more piles. What are those?
Bernard was completely in command. Those are the constituency cards. Your election agent dropped them off this morning.
I hadnt realised that they were divided up into different sections like that. But of course, constituency mail is considered political, not governmental. The Civil Service would never help with that, because it mustnt take sides in party politics. At least, thats their excuse.
However, Bernard was more than happy to explain about the constituency Christmas cards. Those you sign Jim, these Jim Hacker, these Jim and Annie, these love from Annie and Jim
I told him that Id got the gist. But it was clearly going to take up much of the day. What a bore.
In fact, I hadnt yet been shown the full magnitude of the task. Bernard suddenly produced a bulging carrier bag.
And Mrs. Hacker left these, he murmured sympathetically. Your personal cards. But it wont take too long. Only eleven hundred and seventy-two.
I was appalled. Eleven hundred and seventy-two?
Apart from, he added, the cards that are waiting for you at Party Headquarters.
My heart sank. Party Headquarters. Id forgotten all about that. I didnt sign any Party Christmas cards last year. But last year I wasnt Party Chairman. This year I am.
I started signing the cards. To my surprise I noticed that there were two kinds: DAA cards and House of Commons cards.
Bernard explained. Departmental cards bestow a slightly higher status on the recipient than a mere House of Commons card. Quite right too -- a departmental card can only be sent by a member of the Department, whereas a House of Commons card can be sent by any ordinary backbencher.
I asked why we didnt send departmental cards to everyone.
They cost 10p more, Minister.
But arent people who get mere House of Commons cards going to be offended at being downgraded?
No, Minister, weve worked it out quite carefully. For some people you can get away with a House of Commons card if you sign it Jim instead of Jim Hacker, or Jim and Annie instead of Jim and Annie Hacker, or add with love, or sign it instead of cyclostyling, or
I silenced him with a look.
There was one card I particularly resented sending. It was to the EEC Agriculture Commissioner in Brussels. I would rather have sent him a redundancy notice. Hes even worse than his colleagues, and I cant speak any worse of anybody than that. Hes the fool who has forced through the plan to standardise the Eurosausage. By the end of next year well be waving goodbye to the good old British sausage, and well be forced to accept some foreign muck like salami or bratwurst in its place.
Of course, they cant actually stop us eating the British sausage. But they can stop us calling it a sausage. It seems that its got to be called the Emulsified High-Fat Offal Tube. And I was forced to swallow it. I mean, it is a perfectly accurate description of the thing, but not awfully appetizing. And it doesnt exactly trip lightly off the tongue. It sticks in the throat, as a matter of fact. Theres going to be frightful trouble over it.
But its my job to implement EEC regulations. And, in exchange for getting a new deal on farm prices and on Britains reduced contribution to the community budget, a concession had to be made. The PM didnt seem to mind, nor did the FO, nor did Agriculture -- presumably because Im the one who is to be landed with trying to sell this to the British people. It could ruin my career.
Bernard asked me what the EEC has against our sausage. Apparently he doesnt read the papers he puts into my red box. [The official briefcase containing government papers, which members of the government are given each evening and weekend as their homework Ed.]
Didnt you read this analysis?
I glanced at it, Minister, but Im afraid it rather put me off.
I re-read it, there and then.
a lack of healthy nutrition. The average British sausage consists of:
32% Fat
6% Rind
20% Water
5% Seasoning, preservatives and colouring
26% Meat
The 26% meat is mostly gristle, head meat, other off cuts, and mechanically recovered meat steamed off the carcass.
I felt slightly sick. I had had one for breakfast.
Bernard read the analysis. Perhaps the EEC Commissioner is right about abolishing it.
Bernard sometimes misses the point completely. He may be right, I explained wearily, but itll be dreadfully unpopular with the voters. Bernard nodded gloomily. Ah well, I added, it seems well just have to grit our teeth and bite the bullet.
[We have kept Hackers mixed metaphors in the text of this document because we feel it gives an insight into the mind of one of our great national leaders Ed.]
Bernard tactfully suggested that I should send Maurice a Christmas card, nonetheless. I toyed with the idea of wishing him an offal Christmas and a wurst New Year, but Bernard advised me against it.
[One of the reasons for trying to maintain impenetrable secrecy around Government Ministers is that without it many would make themselves laughing stocks within days or -- at most -- weeks. Bernards advice in this case was clearly wise Ed.]
I asked Bernard what Christmas presents it would be appropriate to give to the Private Office.
Bernard said that it was entirely up to me. But he recommended bottles of sherry for the Assistant Private Secretaries, large boxes of House of Commons mints for the Dairy Secretary and the Correspondence Secretary, and small boxes of House of Commons mints for the rest.
What about the Principal Private Secretary? I asked absent-mindedly.
Thats me, he replied, slightly startled.
I explained that I knew who he was. But I wondered what I should give him.
You dont have to give me anything, Minister.
I know that, I said with real warmth. But Id like to.
Bernard seemed quite touched. Oh, Minister, he replied.
Well? I asked.
Well, anything really.
He obviously didnt want to say. But I had no idea what hed like.
Such as? I prompted.
Really, he said, Id like a surprise.
I still didnt have a clue. What sort of surprise should I give you?
Well, he said cautiously, a bottle of champagne is the customary surprise.
I spent the rest of the day signing those bloody cards. I was supposed to have a big meeting with Humphrey, but it was cancelled because he had some unexpected meeting with Sir Arnold [Sir Arnold Robinson, the Secretary of the Cabinet]. I think Bernard knows that theres something going on with Sir Humphrey because I got one of his less-than-completely straightforward replies when I asked him if the meeting was something I should know about.
Well, he answered evasively, Im sure that if, you know, its about something you should know, assuming that, you know, you didnt know about it already, then, obviously, when you can know will be when Sir Humphrey really knows.
I dont like being kept in the dark, I complained.
Well, honestly, Minister, Sir Humphrey may not know what its about.