Who else? asked the old smoothie. He had a very plummy voice. Id seen him at the RSC [Royal Shakespearean Company]. Cant remember his name. I liked him though.
Who else? repeated Hacker, desperately stalling while he gave himself time to think. Well, er, Shakespeare of course. And er, er, Sheridan. Oscar Wilde. Bernard Shaw. All great English playwrights.
They were all Irish, said the aggressive young actress.
Hacker tried to charm her with a smile, a fairly hopeless task. Yes, I know that, but well, Irish, English, it was all the same in those days, wasnt it?
Bernard Shaw died in 1950, said a slim young man on the edge of the group, who was apparently studying a Gainsborough on the wall with such intensity that he didnt even turn to look at the Prime Minister.
Oh Im so sorry, replied Hacker inappropriately.
A large middle-aged actress with a beautiful smile and a husky deep voice, born of thirty years of gin and Benson and Hedges, smiled warmly at him and asked if he went to the theatre a lot.
Hacker hedged. Well, of course, Id love to -- but you know how it is in this job.
The plummy old actor spoke up again, quoting the Prime Minister back at himself. Dont you think the Prime Minister ought to go. If its one of the great glories of England?
The Prime Ministers explanation was less than tactful. Oh yes, he said. But the Minister for the Arts goes. His job, really.
Why? asked the plummy actor.
Well, the Prime Minister cant do everything himself. Have to delegate the work.
The throaty actress appeared to take offence. Going to the threatre is work?
Yes. No, said Hacker indecisively. But I dont want to trespass on another ministers territory.
Does that mean, enquired the sceptical young actress with a smile, that you cant feel ill without clearing it with the Minister of Health?
Exactly, said Hacker, then realised what hed said. Not exactly, he added, trying but failing to clarify his position.
The slim young man on the edge of the group turned and asked him if he ever went to the theatre when hed been in opposition. Hacker started to explain that, even then, it had not been within his purview.
So when you say you believe in the theatre, said the young man, its like saying you believe in God. You mean you believe it exists.
Hacker denied this hotly. I think he should have been wiser to admit the truth, for he was fooling nobody.
What was the last play you went to? asked the young actress, contempt written all over her face. These people show no respect at all, you know.
Went to? repeated the Prime Minister, as if he sat at home all day and read plays. Last play? he repeated, panicked, playing for time. Ah. Well. Probably Hamlet.
Whose? asked the plummy old fellow.
Shakespeares, said the Prime Minister with confidence.
No, who played Hamlet? asked the slim young man on the edge of the group. Henry Irving? [Sir Henry Irving was a famous nineteenth-century actor and the first knight of the first nights Ed.]
Yes, said hacker, I think that might have been his name.
The acting fraternity gazed at each other, unable to grasp that the Prime Minister neither new nor cared what went on in their temples of art and culture.
I saw Sir Humphrey detach himself from Simon Monk. So detached myself from Hacker and the actors, and took the Cabinet Secretary aside for a private word.
I explained that the Prime Minister was not enjoying himself.
Hes not supposed to, retorted Humphrey. Cocktail parties at Number Ten are just a gruesome duty.
But people are asking him questions, I said.
He should be used to that.
But they werent tabled in advance. So he isnt briefed.
But hes not on the record. Does it matter?
I explained that all the people at the party were going to think that he was a Philistine.
Good Heavens! said Humphrey.
Joking apart, I emphasised that in my opinion he should be rescued. Humphrey said he would handle it.
As we approached Hacker in the theatrical crowd we passed Annie, the Prime Ministers wife, talking to a very small and dapper musician whod recently been appointed Principal Guest Conductor of one of the five London symphony orchestras. Annie may have had too much to drink.
Im interested in hi-fidelity too, she said. My husband is a high-fidelity husband.
Thats nice, said the conductor, who was famous for being exactly the opposite.
In a way, she said conspiratorially, and giggled. High fidelity but low frequency.
The conductor, who clearly found Mrs Hacker extremely attractive, seemed unsure how to reply. You mean, sort of Bang and Olufsen?
Well, Olufsen anyway, said Mrs Hacker.
[Hackers diary continues Ed.]
I was doing well with the acting fraternity. To be honest, I really didnt know that much about the theatre, but Im sure they didnt notice, theyre all so self-centred.
They all knew the Arts Council grant was to be announced any day now, and of course they all pressured me like hell. But Im pretty used to being lobbied by vested interests, and I reminded them that there were numerous other calls on the public purse that some people might consider even more important.
It is, of course, a basic rule for self-interested pressure groups that you present the case for your own financial gain as if the public interest is all you care about. Teachers present demands for their own pay rises as being for the good of education. Even as they go out on strike their leaders argue that theyre doing it for the sake of the children theyre sending home. Miners, if we are to believe them, go on strike so that old people can have cheaper coal. Health service workers -- from doctors to porters -- close down hospitals so as to save the health service for the wretched patients who cant get any treatment in the meantime.
So obviously these very pleasant entertainers, who need the love and applause of thousands of total strangers, and who therefore put on plays because dressing up and showing off in public is fun and makes them feel good, also present their demands for subsidy under the guise of the public interest -- education, usually.
So I countered by pointing out that much more money is desperately needed for genuine educational purposes, trusting that they would not mention that I was not in any case giving the money to those with a prior call. Not to mention hospitals, kidney machines
Tanks and rockets, said one of the actresses, is what you spend the money on.
H-bombs, chimed in another.
Perfectly true. But we could hardly defend ourselves from the Russians with a performance of Henry V. I said so. They werent amused.
Humphrey arrived at my side and it was with some relief that I escaped from that little group.
This isnt a drinks party, its a siege, I complained bitterly.
Humphrey merely commented that people are very concerned about the arts. Hes wrong. These people are very concerned -- the nation doesnt give a damn. If they did, theyd spend their own money on the Arts. Why should the Governments money be spent on other peoples pleasure, I asked him.
Nobody could call it pleasure, said Humphrey rather shocked. Hes a true Calvinist at heart. The point is that we have a great heritage to support. Pictures hardly anyone wants to see, music hardly anyone wants to hear, plays hardly anyone wants to watch. We cant let them die just because no ones interested.
I was curious. Why not?
Its like the Church of England, Prime Minister. People dont go to church, but they feel better because its there. The Arts are just the same. As long as theyre going on you can feel part of a civilised nation.
All very well in its way, but hes totally unpolitical and unrealistic. There are no votes in the Arts, I reminded him. Nobodys interested!
Stubbornly he refused to concede the point. Nobodys interested in the Social Science Research Council. Or the Milk Marketing Board. Or the Advisory Committee on Dental Establishments. Or the Dumping At Sea Representation Panel. But Government still pays money to support them.