The Complete Yes Minister полностью

Bernard, who clearly knew even less about him than Peter and Gillian, asked what was in the book.

‘We don’t know.’

‘Well, what do I say about it?’ I whispered hysterically, aware that time was running out.

‘Stall,’ advised Peter.

That was a big help. I’d have to say something. ‘Stall?’ I said indignantly. ‘What do you mean by it, stall?’

‘Stall, meaning avoiding answering, Minister,’ interjected Bernard. Like headless chickens in a crisis, these civil servants.

I gritted my teeth. ‘I know what stall means, Bernard.’ I was trying, not altogether successfully, to keep my temper. ‘But what do you mean by sending me out into a typhoon without even giving me an umbrella?’

‘An umbrella wouldn’t be much use in a typhoon, Minister, because the wind would get underneath and…’

The Chairman called upon me at that moment, which was just as well or Bernard might never have lived to tell the tale.

‘Have you had sufficient consultation with your officials?’ asked the Chairman.

‘More than enough,’ I replied grimly.

The Chairman nodded to Betty Oldham, who smiled and said: ‘Let me read you some of the scandalous facts that Mr Rhodes reveals.’

She then read me the following passage: ‘At No. 4 regional supply depot in Herefordshire there are two former aircraft hangars used only for stores, but which are centrally heated to 70° Fahrenheit day and night.’ [Quoted verbatim from Rhodes’s book — Ed.] ‘What have you got to say about that?’ she asked.

Naturally I had absolutely nothing to say. I pointed out that I couldn’t possibly be expected to answer that sort of detailed question without prior notice.

She conceded the point, but claimed that she was asking about a principle. ‘What I’m asking is, what conceivable reason could there be for such appalling extravagance?’

The Chairman and the Committee seemed to think I should answer. So I made a stab at it. ‘Some materials deteriorate badly at low temperatures. It would depend on what was being stored.’

I’d played right into her hands. ‘Copper wire,’ she said promptly, and smiled.

‘Well…’ I made another guess at what conceivable reason there could be. ‘Er… copper can corrode in damp conditions, can’t it?’

‘It’s plastic-coated,’ she said, and waited.

‘Plastic-coated,’ I said. ‘Ah well. Yes.’ They still seemed to want something of me. ‘Well, I’ll have it looked into,’ I offered. What else could I say?

I’d hoped that would be the end of it. But no. It was only the beginning.

‘Mr Rhodes also says that your Department insists on ordering all pens, pencils, paper-clips and so on centrally, and then distributing them against departmental requisitions.’

‘That seems very sensible to me,’ I replied cautiously, scenting a trap. ‘There are big savings on bulk purchases.’

There was a trap. ‘He demonstrates,’ she continued, ‘that this procedure is four times more expensive than if local offices went out and bought what they wanted in the High Street.’

I thought of remarking that you can prove anything with figures, but decided against it. Clearly he, and she, wouldn’t make this claim without some evidence. And my experience of the DAA suggests that Rhodes was probably absolutely right anyway. So I told her that I found this information very interesting and that I’d be happy to change the system if it were shown to be necessary. ‘We’re not a rigid bureaucracy, you know,’ I added.

This remark proved to be a tactical error. ‘Oh no?’ she enquired acidly. ‘Mr Rhodes says that he gave these figures and proposed this change when he was in your Department, and it was turned down on the grounds that people were used to the existing procedure. How’s that for a rigid bureaucracy?’

I’d led with my chin there. I really had no defence immediately available to me. Again I offered to have the matter looked into.

‘Looked into?’ she smiled at me contemptuously.

‘Looked into, yes,’ I asserted defiantly, but I was losing my nerve.

‘You did say in Washington last week that your Department conducted a ruthless war on waste and could teach the world a lesson?’ I nodded. She went for the kill. ‘How would you reconcile that with spending seventy-five thousand pounds on a roof garden on top of the supplementary benefits office in Kettering?’

I was speechless.

She asked me, with heavy sarcasm, if I proposed to have it looked into. Now I was on the ropes. I started to explain that my responsibility is for policy rather than for detailed administration (which isn’t true) and was saved by the bell in the form of Alan Hughes, a more friendly committee member [i.e. a committee member hoping for office in the government, or some other special favour — Ed.].

Alan intervened and said: ‘Mr Chairman, I think that the Permanent Secretary to the DAA is due to appear before us next week. Would he not be the appropriate person to answer these questions?’