Humphrey seemed puzzled. Prime Minister, we can try to find the culprit. We can prosecute. But under our current political system there are problems, as Im sure you must be aware, about the government actually guaranteeing a conviction.
Of course I knew that. But its been done often enough, God knows! I suggested a quiet drinkie with the judge.
Unthinkable! Sir Humphrey was playing Goody Two-Shoes. It was one of his least convincing performances. There is no way, Prime Minister, of putting any pressure on a British judge.
Who does he think hes kidding? So what do you do to ensure a conviction? I enquired.
Simple, replied Sir Humphrey promptly. You pick a judge who wont need any pressure put upon him.
I hadnt thought of that. Its always simple when you know how.
A quiet word with the Lord Chancellor, continued Humphrey. Find a judge whos on the government side.
And who dislikes the Daily Post? I asked.
They all dislike the Daily Post. We need a judge whos hoping to be made a Lord of Appeal. Then we leave justice free to take her own impartial and majestic course.
I asked if that always does the trick. Humphrey explained that it wasnt foolproof. Sometimes theyre obviously trying so hard for a conviction that the jury acquits out of sheer bloody-mindedness.
So, I summed up judicially, the judge has to have some common sense as well.
He nodded. I can see that its not so simple as he makes out.
August 6th
Lunch today with Derek Burnham, the editor of the Daily Post. Its no pleasure to have lunch with such a person, but he is a representative of the fourth estate and I kept a metaphorical clothes-peg on my nose.
We lunched in the small dining-room at Number Ten. Its a panelled room, a sort of ante-room to the big state dining-room, aadjoining the yellow pillared room. Its an impressive place, yet small enough for intimate luncheons. Sometimes I lunch there with Bernard and other officials if Annies out and I cant be bothered to go upstairs and make lunch for myself.
Bernham is a nondescript, sandy-haired Scotsman of indeterminate middle age, with dandruff liberally scattered across his collar and lapels.
So what are you asking me to tell my readers? he asked me over the tomato soup.
Im not asking you to tell your readers anything, I replied carefully, not neglecting to turn on the charm. Im just giving you my side of the story.
Derek pretended to be puzzled. But its not that important, is it?
He wouldnt like to have lies written about him in the newspapers! [Hacker appears to have forgotten that it was truth that was written about him in the papers. Or perhaps he did not really forget, for the truth can be even more painful to read than lies Ed.]
Why the big fuss? persisted Derek.
Because, I was indignant, I do not have two faces, and I didnt try to suppress the chapter.
May I quote you? he asked mischievously.
I was very specific in my reply. I told him that he may not quote me denying that I have two faces.
He grinned. It was worth a try. He slurped his soup. But Jim, I really dont know why youre so upset. I agree the chapter doesnt flatter you, but its just part of the normal rough and tumble of political life, isnt it?
I told him that I really didnt think that a responsible paper should print that kind of smear. He gave a non-committal nod. So I asked him why he did.
Because it sold us over a hundred thousand extra copies.
But didnt you see how damaging these accusations are?
Id created a trap for myself. Thats my point exactly, he grinned. Heres this damaging accusation and its up to you to clear it for publication, and you are asking me to believe that you didnt try to stop it?
Of course I didnt.
Why not?
This is a free country, Derek, I said grandly. Freedom of speech will always be protected while Im in Number Ten.
He wouldnt let go. But if its seriously damaging to you
Its not all that damaging, I replied irritably.
He sat back and smiled. Fine, he said. So whats all this fuss about?
I could see that it was difficult for me to have it both ways. I tried a new tack. I explained that I didnt care about the damage to me personally, its the damage to Britain that worries me.
He couldnt see, at first, how Britain could be damaged. Patiently I explained that undermining the leadership seriously damages the nation with foreigners. The pound, that sort of thing.
He didnt buy it. Because when I followed up by asking him to retract the story that Id tried to suppress chapter eight of that damn book, he said that he couldnt.
Wouldnt Id understand, but couldnt? I challenged him. Youre the Editor, arent you?
He took a bread roll. Bernard immediately passed him the butter. Prime Minister, an Editor isnt like a General commanding an army. Hes just the ringmaster of a circus. I can book the acts, but I cant tell the acrobats which way to jump. Nor can I prevent the bareback rider from falling off her horse.
Cajoling had clearly failed. It was time to try Pressure. Derek, I said carefully as I filled up his glass of Aloxe-Corton (his favourite, according to Malcolm), I dont think it would be helpful if you forced us to the conclusion that we couldnt trust you. Obviously we like to co-operate with the press, but you really are making it hard for us.
Derek was made of sterner stuff. He sniffed the bouquet, swirled the Burgundy around in the glass to let it breathe, and then looked me squarely in the eye. I dont think that it would be helpful if you made us think you were hostile to our paper. Obviously we like to co-operate with Number Ten, but if its war, then
I let him go no further. I assured him that war was the last thing we wanted, it wouldnt be helpful to either of us. I was merely suggesting merely thinking there could be exclusive interviews and photo opportunities
If I retract? he enquired sharply.
If you print the truth, I corrected him.
He sighed. Jim, I have to stand by my story until I get hard evidence that its not true.
I couldnt think what evidence there could be to disprove the story. [Perhaps because the story was true Ed.]
Such as? I asked.
The minutes of the meeting.
I dont see why not, if my integrity is at stake. I turned to Bernard. Bernard, the minutes bear out my account of the meeting, dont they?
Bernard stammered incoherently. The eyes of all three of us -- Derek, Malcolm and myself -- were upon him. He said something like Well I er um but well er yes but
Good, I said. Derek, you may see them.
Bernard was looking apoplectic. I thought he was about to have a brain seizure. But Prime Minister he spluttered.
I put him at his ease. Yes, yes, I know theyre usually confidential, but this is a special case.
Derek was not content with seeing the minutes. May I publish them?
I told him we could talk about that -- I havent seen them myself. I told Bernard to show them to me this afternoon.
[Bernards discomfiture had two origins. It is anybodys guess which fear was causing him the greater panic. First, there was the breach of the Official Secrets Act: the idea of showing minutes of a Cabinet Committee to the press was absolutely without precedent. And even if the breach of the Official Secrets Act was made legal by the instructions of the Prime Minister (by no means a certainty), there was the additional problem that Hacker had sworn to prosecute the official who had leaked the discussion about the offending chapter eight -- which was undoubtedly less secret than cabinet minutes.
But Bernard had a greater problem still, which he revealed to Sir Humphrey Appleby immediately he was able to get away from the Prime Ministers lunch with Derek Burnham. Sir Humphreys personal papers contain a detailed report of the ensuing conversation, followed by a rare and valuable insight into his views on political memoirs and the need for secrecy in government Ed.]