Notebook

British Leyland must face its new troubles Without the help of Mr John Barber, Lord Stokes's heir-apparent, and without the large sum of money which Mr Barber has taken out of the company by way of valedictory handshake. The amount is unspecified—though Leyland's accounts will have to show it; but it is reckoned to run comfortably into six figures, since Mr Barber's service agreement at £42,000 a year ran until 1984.

It is, of course, one of the crazier features of the British business scene that the only rich manager is a sacked manager; and by the time the tax-man has finished with him, Mr Barber will not be particularly rich. He IS still, though, better off—by about half a million pounds—than he would have been but for a specific provision in Lord Ryder's recOnstruction of the company. Mr Barber held 263,089 shares in the old British Leyland company, issued to him under its incentive scheme. These were DartlY-paid shares. That is, the participants in the scheme put down a small amount of rutnieY—thought to be about twopence a share—with the right (and, in some circumstances, the liability) to pay up the rest of the shares' par value of 25p. If Leyland Prospered, the shares would be worth more than their par value, and the architects of that prosperity would be deservedly rewarded. But if Leyland went under, holders Of these shares could be called on to pay the full 25p. Leyland did not prosper; and the shares for which Mr Barber accepted a liability to Day 25P are now effectively valued in the Market at 3p. But the scheme of arrangeTent sponsored by Lord Ryder relieved Mr 4arber and the other holders of incentivescheme shares (they included Lord Stokes, With 485,437) of their liabilities.

All these transactions were approved by the shareholders—which, nowadays, means

US, the taxpayers. But there are still two c1tuestions that we should ask. First, did Mr t 4,tber's compensation for loss of office 'axe account of his release from his liability?

And second, how effective is a carrot-andstick incentive scheme where those taking Part could expect the carrot but are spared the Stick?

There seems to be little evidence for the extraordinarily widespread assumption that,

come the end of the year, Mr Roy Jenkins will succeed to the Presidency of the Euro13;eam Commission. Certainly he would be

givell a warm welcome on the continent; and the governments of the EEC seem confident that he will be the Prime Minister's nominee. ut there is strong feeling against the

appointment in influential Labour circles.

Once President, Mr Jenkins would serve for at least two years, and probably four. He would be wholly independent of the British government, and free to give full vent to his passionate Europeanism. To put it mildly, that could be embarrassing to the Callaghan government, especially if economic circumstances were to bring about some such measure as import controls—thoroughly unpalatable to the Europeans, and in breach of EEC regulations.

Mr Foot and his friends would no doubt prefer a less prominent President.

Here is something to give us cause for thought (or suspicion). 'There is no real scarcity of oil,' says Professor Alan Walters, of the London School of Economics, in a paper published by the Foundation for Business Responsibilities. 'The contrived scarcity of oil has been achieved by an inter-governmental cartel . . . helped by the US State Department.'

'The theory of only fifteen years' oil reserves has been with us for at least half a century,' he goes on, and likens it to the fashionable tale of the disappearing whale. The reason why the whales disappeared so quickly was because no one owned the whales in the sea. Had the whales been owned by somebody and had they been judged to be profitable investment assets in the future, either as pretty zoo specimens or for blubber and oil, then they would have been cultivated like any other stock.'

The Press Council declaration on privacy had many laudable sentiments and even more sonorous phrases. 'Of interest to the public' is not synonymous with 'in the public interest'. It was also optimistic : 'This declaration of principle, which takes account of existing rulings of the council and editorial directives on standards ofJournalists, should ensure the maintenance of a climate of opinion and behaviour among all concerned, protecting the right of privacy.'

All the newspapers carried the statement with the exception of the Sun, which may have overlooked it in its enthusiasm to get people 'into the holiday mood' and to have Claire Rayner answer the Page One question: 'Will he know I'm not a virgin?' The Times ran a leader, hedged with some doubt about the success of the Council's exhortations among newspapers 'in their highly competitive activities' ; and so did the Daily Mirror, always zealous for virtue, pointing out that the six principles enunciated had always been its policy anyway. The Daily Mail and the Daily Express, having put forth the six commandments, immediately sinned against them on their diary pages. It will take more than a Press Council declaration to convince some papers that privacy is a public possession, not a proprietorial privilege.

The concept of Catch 22 was given a new twist in the Appeal Court last week. Mr Justic Kenneth Jones ruled that being 'an incorrigible rogue' is not an offence. Good news, you might think, for the appellant who had been sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment for being just such an 'incorrigible rogue'. But precisely because it is not an offence, as the judge went on to explain, he had no power to suspend the sentence. A 'rogue' of this sort is apparently a sort of 'state' or 'status'. Small consolation for the prisoner, now serving his year in jail.

It seems rather in the nature of what the late Lord Goddard used to call 'a legal trap'. If someone is 'incorrigible', then by definition he is irredeemable and cannot be reformed, which lands him with the prospect of a lifelong series of twelve-month sentences, even though he will have committed no 'offence'.

It is,to be hoped that the award of the 1976 Booker Prize (of £5,000) for the best novel of the year will not be affected by the sort of insular prejudice expressed after the last. The prize is confined to British and Commonwealth citizens. Last year, it may be recalled, a certain fuss and bitterness accompanied the choice of an Indian writer, Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, and an Australian, Thomas Keneally. What a rebuff for English letters! Or so it was said.

This year's judges are Mrs Mary Wilson (no less), Mr Walter Allen and Mr Francis King, the last two of whom are old hands at awarding literary prizes. They are sure to find themselves under pressure to select a native English author.

Moreover, the National Book League has stipulated that this year there should be 'a minimum of three and a maximum of six' books on the judges' short-list—unlike the last, when there were only two. It has also been suggested that the actual winner should not be chosen until the morning of the prizegiving ceremony.