1、【Behind the Scenes】S00E00 Kiln-Fired ...
-
【Behind the Scenes】 S00E00 Kiln-Fired
The result of the May 1979 general election was, predictably, another hung parliament.
Perhaps 'predictably' is too strong a word. 'Not entirely unexpected' would be a more fitting description.
Not entirely unexpected, because a reduction in Labour's seats was to be expected after a strike season the public had 'fondly'—or rather, through gritted teeth—dubbed the 'Winter of Discontent'. What was slightly unexpected was that the scale of the attrition was surprisingly decent. Nevertheless, the 301 seats Labour managed to retain were still short of a majority, and the politically excruciating stalemate of 1974 repeated itself.
History, with its characteristic and faintly mocking flourish, wrote the same chapter once more: the Conservative leader again failed to persuade Her Majesty to form a government with fewer seats than Labour; thus, Labour once again formed a precarious minority government.
Only this time, its lifespan proved even more short-lived than anticipated.
It failed even to survive that year's Christmas, forced to knock on the electorate's door once more in the biting winds of December.
The political wisdom of seeking a public mandate at such a time of year was, frankly, baffling. One can only imagine the 'heartfelt gratitude' of the shivering voters queuing at the polling stations.
The result?
The result was, naturally, logical.
Labour's support eroded still further.
In January 1980, when the dust settled, the Conservatives had secured 306 seats, while Labour retreated to 285. For the third time since the smoke of the Second World War had cleared, Britain was met with the familiar spectacle of a hung parliament. Evidently, with the lessons of the past fresh in his mind, the new Conservative leader, David Northcote, acted decisively, resolving to join forces with the Liberal Party, which had unexpectedly surged to claim 27 seats.
On Friday, the 18th of January, the fog had not yet lifted, and the chill remained sharp.
Following a round of remarkably efficient negotiations—an efficiency that spoke more of necessity than zeal, or rather, no choice—The Right Honourable David Henry Northcote MP, leader of the Conservative Party, and The Right Honourable Richard Hugh Trevelyan MP, leader of the Liberal Party, signed a coalition agreement.
A Conservative-Liberal coalition Cabinet was born.
---
---
---
The coalition's cabinet list was nothing less than a delicate balancing act.
The core red boxes had to remain firmly in Conservative hands, predominantly with the party's moderate wing, but the reformist faction also required appeasement. Meanwhile, the Liberals needed to be placated and courted, especially their rising star—Charles Hyde.
Forty-one, energetic, with a mercurial mind, his star was in the ascendant within the Liberal Party, and he held a certain ineffable appeal even for the Conservative moderates.
He needed a suitable post. Not so important as to threaten the Conservative foundation; not so paltry as to enrage their Liberal allies; and preferably, one that looked suitably impressive.
And so, a new cabinet department was conceived:
The Department of Synergy Coordination.
Within the precise and antiquated machine of British government, the DSC's birth was initially regarded by all civil servants as a delicate political vase, offered by Prime Minister Northcote to the Liberal Party.
But, nevertheless—or rather, therefore—it required fitting out with the full complement of components befitting a cabinet department.
And a capable Permanent Secretary is a standard fitting for every department.
With remarkable speed, a remarkably young name was nominated by the Cabinet Office Secretariat and placed before the Prime Minister.
---
---
---
Number 10, Downing Street.
The room was shrouded in the winter twilight. The sole source of light was a heavy green banker's lamp on the desk, casting a jaundiced glow over mountains of red dispatch boxes.
Prime Minister Northcote's fingertips tapped on a slim file before him, the paper's edge almost translucent in the lamplight.
Lord Alistair Cavendish, currently Deputy Permanent Secretary at the Department of Energy.
His curriculum vitae was a model of impeccability. Though he possessed a mere sixteen years of Civil Service experience, he had rotated through various core departments and the Cabinet Office, held numerous key posts, and had even been seconded to Number 10. Every performance review was uniformly marked 'Exceptional'. His ascent through the grades had been astonishingly swift.
And yet…
He frowned. "Too young, Albert. Far too young."
The Prime Minister's voice was a mixture of fatigue and a cautious weighing of political risk.
"A Permanent Secretary at thirty-eight? Whitehall is not yet accustomed to this tempo, I fear."
The coalition was on thin ice; any appointment could upset the fragile balance.
The Cabinet Secretary, Sir Albert Sackville, sat nearby, his silver temples glinting in the lamplight.
He leaned forward slightly, his tone steady. "A young department, a young appointment. There is a certain… symmetry, Prime Minister."
"Moreover…" Sir Albert paused, his fingertip landing on the assessment column as his grey-blue eyes looked up from behind his spectacles, "Cavendish has extensive experience in strategic assessment, planning, and efficient execution. He is particularly adept at coordination and negotiation. This Department of Synergy Coordination requires precisely such a helmsman, one who can erect the framework and, at the very least… ensure it appears to function."
The Prime Minister's gaze flickered over the surname 'Cavendish', and the understated 'Lord' that followed. An aristocratic background was a double-edged sword in the Civil Service: it brought intangible assets, but could also attract invisible barriers.
"And his background? Will it not be…"
"A silver spoon…" Sir Albert's eyes returned to the file, "must be perpetually burnished by golden reports lest it cast an unwelcome glare. Alistair Cavendish understands this well. Every step of his promotion has been founded on the bedrock of merit, not the shifting sands of lineage."
He picked up his fountain pen and tapped the nomination paper lightly. "To be safe, perhaps we might add the word 'Acting' before his title of Permanent Secretary? With a six-month evaluation period, to be submitted in writing."
Sir Albert had discreetly provided a decent buffer for this promising young man—which was also a line of retreat. It was both protection and probation.
Outside, the glow of Whitehall's streetlamps flickered through the gap in the heavy curtains.
The Prime Minister reflected for a moment, his gaze seeming to pierce the darkness beyond the drapes. Finally, he took his pen and signed his name at the bottom of the document.
The ink bled into a single, dark point.
Alistair's file, and with it his political fate, had been cast into the kiln that was firing this delicate vase, the 'Department of Synergy'.
"Then… let him have a go, Albert. Let us hope this 'vase' can at least hold a few… flowers that are not too thorny."
---
---
---
A coolly modern sitting-room.
The lines were clean, the only colour coming from a shelf of handsomely bound classical literature by the fireplace and several abstract prints on the wall.
Alistair, in a dark green velvet dressing-gown, stood at the window, gazing at the hazy lights of the South Bank across the Thames. He had just finished a patched-through call with Brussels, discussing the technical details of North Sea oil extraction quotas, and a trace of weariness lingered on his brow.
The ring of the telephone cut through the silence.
It was the direct line from the Cabinet Office.
"Lord Cavendish." The voice on the other end was strictly business. "Sir Albert Sackville's compliments. You are to be temporarily seconded to the Cabinet Office, effective immediately. You are to spearhead the establishment of the new Department of Synergy Coordination and its initial operations. You are appointed Head of the Preparatory Unit. A full brief has been dispatched via secure channels."
The line went dead.
Alistair did not move immediately, his calm face reflected in the windowpane.
Head of a new department's preparatory unit. On the unspoken □□ of Whitehall, this was usually the antechamber to the throne of that department's Permanent Secretary.
The Department of Synergy Coordination.
A vase with a vague remit?
A gilded cage?
Or… a blank canvas, waiting to be shaped?
He returned to his desk and sat down, picking up a fountain pen. The deep emerald on his fourth finger caught the lamplight with a discreet, inner glow.
The nib touched the memorandum book, marking the date—18 January 1980.
Then, it flowed smoothly into letters:
"Appointed PUH for the new Dept. of Synergy Coordination.
"Remit: Establish framework and oversee initial operations.
"A sop to the coalition? A placement for Hyde? A potential gilded cage?"
Initial remit is nebulous, budget will be constrained, prone to marginalisation. But nebulous also implies malleable. A potential information nexus. Marginality provides room for manoeuvre. The key to seizing the opportunity lies in establishing initial credibility and an information network…
The nib paused for a breath, then continued downwards:
"Priority: Establish operational credibility. Build information nexus. Survive the initial phase of political irrelevance…"
The elegant script gradually filled two pages, finally concluding:
"The kiln is fired. The vessel's form is yet clay. Opportunity resides in perceived uselessness."
The final full stop was a fraction darker.
Alistair raised his right hand and reached for the telephone beside him—
He needed to consider his choices with care, starting with the civil servants to be seconded…
In the deep London night, another cog in the great Whitehall machine had quietly engaged, bringing with it a new, unknown friction, and a new possibility.
The kiln fire burned silently.
作者有话说
第1章 【Behind the Scenes】S00E00 Kiln-Fired
