“The antithesis of the stuffy civil servant”, Riddelsdell's integrity, waspish wit and analytical mind won over ministers and colleagues alike
When she became second permanent secretary of the Department of Health and Social Security in 1971, Dame Mildred Riddelsdell was one of a trio of female officials – the others being Dame Evelyn Sharp and Dame Mary Smieton – to reach the rank of perm sec in an era when being a woman made that almost an impossible feat.
But by that time she had already made a huge impact on public life. Having become a civil servant at the Ministry of Labour in 1936, and having been Ernest Bevin’s private secretary during the war, by 1945 Riddelsdell was one of a group of just four officials who would set up the contributory benefits system which shaped the foundations of Britain’s post-war welfare state.
This work, at the newly created Ministry of National Insurance, not only involved establishing hundreds of offices across the country and recruiting and training thousands of officials, but also entailed drafting complex legislation and getting it passed into law. A monumental task, yet Riddelsdell and her team achieved it within three years.
Between 1968 and 1970, Riddelsdell worked alongside Labour cabinet minister Richard Crossman – he of The Diaries fame – who was a great admirer of her exceptional analytical skills and “deep personal integrity”. In 1969 Crossman put her forward for the role of permanent secretary, but his recommendation ran into resistance from the entrenched Whitehall “old boys” network, notably Sir William Armstrong, then head of the civil service. After sounding out his inner circle, Armstrong concluded that while Riddelsdell excelled at shaping policy, she lacked the capability to manage an entire department. Ultimately it was Keith Joseph, the incoming Conservative secretary of state, who made sure she got the top job.
Alongside her reputation for integrity and a sometimes intimidating professional persona, close associates recalled how, in private, she had a gift for humour and waspish commentary. “She was the antithesis of the stuffy civil servant, other than when the occasion demanded it,” recalled the Labour MP Tam Dalyell, who overlapped with Riddelsdell when he was Crossman’s PPS. Dalyell also remembers “laughing like a drain” when she told him with a straight face that a meeting she and Crossman had attended with then-chancellor Roy Jenkins and some senior Treasury officials had been like “visiting Mussolini and his advisers”.
A 2006 Guardian obituary of Riddelsdell by Michael Partridge, who later became a permanent secretary himself, is another treasure trove of anecdotes. Partridge met Riddelsdell in 1960 when he joined the Ministry of Pensions and National Insurance as a young assistant principal and he recalls being summoned to her office and tasked with drafting a note on benefit reforms. Riddelsdell briskly outlined the background, identified key issues, and suggested possible solutions – all within ten minutes. “I realised that she could have dictated the note herself in half an hour, and that, if I could only remember what she was saying when I got back to my desk, she had practically done it for me,” he writes.
Looking back on his time as private secretary to the permanent secretary – the experienced and authoritative Sir Eric Bowyer – Partridge notes that even Bowyer seemed wary of Riddelsdell. Every Friday, Bowyer held long afternoon meetings with his senior staff, typically drifting on for hours amid a fog of tobacco smoke. But when Riddelsdell returned from a secondment, Bowyer warned colleagues, “We shall have to smarten up and sharpen up our act.” Sure enough, when Riddelsdell rejoined the meetings, her incisive comments swiftly resolved every issue, and proceedings that once lasted three hours concluded in one.
After she retired, Partridge visited Riddelsdell frequently. “She remained as alert and crisp as ever,” he recalls. “She used to quiz me when I was permanent secretary: ‘Has the department any problems, Michael? Tell me.’ And she proceeded to offer suggestions for solving them within minutes, making me feel like her young assistant again.”
Another gem from Riddelsdell’s retirement that readers of CSW’s Trailblazing Women archive will undoubtedly enjoy: she continued to lunch regularly with her friend, Dame Mary Smieton, until the latter died in 2005. As Partridge has it: “An eavesdropper would have heard the two, one over 100 and the other over 90, dissecting trenchantly the policies and performance of governments and civil servants.”
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