…Material progress depends upon technical progress which depends upon investment and ultimately upon savings… It is important that part of the additional resources going to wage-earners and others of limited means should be saved by them instead of being spent forthwith. [Paragraph 376]
Much of our time at the Ministry was taken up both with coping with the effects of and finding remedies to the difficulties which flowed from the gap between Beveridge’s original conception and the way in which the system — and with it public expectations — had developed. So, for example, in those days before inflation took hold and benefits were annually up-rated to cope with it, there were cries of disapproval when National Insurance pensions were increased and National Assistance, which made up your income to a certain level, was not. People also increasingly came to expect something better than a subsistence-level pension to retire upon, but the contribution levels or financing from general taxation which this would require seemed prohibitive. This lay behind John Boyd-Carpenter’s idea of the ‘graduated pensions’ scheme, whereby the payment of higher contributions could secure a somewhat higher pension, and provision was made for the encouragement of private occupational pension schemes. Another constant source of difficulty for which we found no ultimate (affordable) answer was the ‘earnings rule’ whereby pensioners who worked would at a certain level of income lose part or all of their pension payments. As I shall explain, it was the impact of this on pensioner widows which caused me most difficulty and not a little heart-searching.
Three other questions, which were to trouble governments for many years to come, had also already begun to loom. There was the issue of how to ensure decent levels of incomes for elderly pensioners who had not paid in sufficient contributions to be able to claim a full National Insurance pension. There was the continual search for greater ‘selectivity’ (as the jargon had it) in Social Security benefits generally — that is, concentrating them on the most needy rather than on the general broad range of benefit recipients. (In fact, as our current debates on ‘targeting benefits’ — in today’s jargon — shows, this has proved a largely fruitless exercise.) Finally, there was the whole argument about the ‘stigma’ attached to National Assistance and the means test. As I frequently pointed out, this had two sides to it. On the one hand, of course, people living in real poverty ought to be encouraged to take the state help which is on offer. On the other hand, the self-respect of those people I used to refer to as ‘the proud ones’, who were not going to take hand-outs from anyone, was morally admirable and, as can now be seen all too clearly, a check on dependency whose removal could ultimately have devastating social consequences.
Apart from the Beveridge Report and other general briefing from the department, it was the case work — that is the investigation of particular people’s problems raised in letters — which taught me most about the Social Security system. I was not prepared to sign a reply if I did not feel that I properly understood the background. Consequently, a stream of officials came in and out of my modest office to give me the benefit of their matchless knowledge of each topic. I adopted a similar approach to parliamentary questions, which would be shared out between the ministers. I was not content to know the answer or the line to take. I wanted to know why. The weekend before my first appearance at the Despatch Box to answer questions was, I fear, almost as nerve-racking for my Private Secretary as it was for me, since I was all the time on the telephone to him for explanations.
Apart from some peppery exchanges with the civil servants allocated to deal with my Private Member’s Bill, it was at Pensions that I had my first professional dealings with the civil service. The Permanent Secretary of the department in practice wields a good deal more power than a junior minister. It was made clear to me early on that he was answerable only to the ministerial head of the department. The two successive Permanent Secretaries during my time at Pensions, Eric Bowyer and Clifford Jarrett, were representatives of the civil service at its best — clever, conscientious and of complete integrity. But the real experts were likely to be found further down the hierarchy. I quickly discovered that the infallible source of information on pensions was a Deputy Secretary, John Walley. Generally, the calibre of the officials I met impressed me.
Having served as a junior minister to three different ministers in the same department I was interested to see that the advice tendered to the ministers by civil servants differed, even though it was on the same topic. So I complained when both Niall Mac-pherson and Richard Wood received policy submissions proposing approaches that I knew had not been put to their predecessor, John Boyd-Carpenter. I remember saying afterwards: ‘That’s not what you advised the previous minister.’ They replied that they had known that he would never accept it. I decided then and there that when I was in charge of a department I would insist on an absolutely frank assessment of all the options from any civil servants who would report to me. Arguments should be from first principles.
I also learned another lesson. There was a good deal of pressure to remove the earnings rule as regards widowed mothers. I sympathized with it strongly. Indeed, this was one of the issues upon which, as a new MP, I had publicly stated my position. I thought that if a woman who had lost her husband but still had children to support decided to try to earn a little more through going out to work she should not lose pension for doing so. Perhaps as a woman I had a clearer idea of what problems widows faced. Perhaps it was my recollection of the heartbreaking sight of a recently widowed mother eking out her tiny income buying bruised fruit at my father’s shop in Grantham. But I found it almost impossible to defend the Government line against Opposition attack. I raised the matter with officials and with my minister. On one occasion, I even raised it with Alec Douglas-Home as Prime Minister when he came to speak to a group of junior ministers. But although he seemed sympathetic, I never got anywhere.
The argument from officials in the department was always that ending the earnings rule for even this most deserving group would have ‘repercussions’ elsewhere. And, of course, they were logically correct. But how I came to hate that word ‘repercussions’. Ministers were wrong to take such arguments at face value and not to apply political judgement to them. It was no surprise to me that one of the first acts of the incoming Labour Government in 1964 was to make the change for which I had been arguing, and to get the credit too. The moral was clear to me: bureaucratic logic is no substitute for ministerial judgement. Forget that as a politician, and the political ‘repercussions’ will be on you.
My days at Pensions were full. Although I shared a ministerial car with my colleague, the junior minister who dealt with war pensions, I generally drove myself in from Farnborough in the mornings. At the Ministry the day might begin with the two junior ministers meeting John Boyd-Carpenter to discuss the larger policy issues or the current political situation. Then there would be batches of letters for me to sign or on which I would seek advice. I might have a meeting about particular areas of responsibility which my minister had given me, such as working out reciprocal arrangements on pensions with other countries. I would have meetings with officials in preparation for papers on forward planning in Social Security — a task which was as necessary as it was difficult. In the afternoon a deputation from the pressure groups, which even in those days abounded in the social services field, might arrive to put its case to me for the correction of some alleged anomaly or the increase of some benefit. I sometimes visited regional Social Security offices, talking to the staff about the problems they faced and listening to suggestions. I would dine at the House or perhaps with political friends — an invitation to dinner with Ernest Marples, the ebullient and original politician who made a name for himself as Transport Minister, and his wife was always a guarantee of superb food and fine wine, as well as jovial company. If there was a division, I would often be in the House to vote at 10 o’clock, before driving back home with two or three red boxes full of draft letters and policy papers to read into the early hours.