Health Bill

Debate between Stuart Andrew and Jessica Toale

2nd reading
Monday 1st June 2026 Commons Chamber

[Stuart Andrew (Daventry) (Con)]

I begin by welcoming the Secretary of State to his new post, and thank him for sharing his very personal story about what the NHS means to him. I look forward to our future exchanges, however long he is in post. I also pay tribute to the former Health Secretary, the right hon. Member for Ilford North (Wes Streeting), with whom I have had a few moments across the Dispatch Box. I know that the NHS has also been very important to him personally. During my time in hospices, I saw the incredible work that the NHS does, and despite the politics that we may have—and I will be referring to the right hon. Gentleman a bit more later on—we all care deeply about the national health service and want the very best for it.

There are moments in politics when one almost has to admire the confidence of Governments—not their competence, necessarily, or their judgment, and sometimes not their timing, but certainly their confidence—and nowhere has that confidence been more magnificently displayed than in the presentation of the Health Bill. If one had listened carefully to the former Secretary of State for Health and Social Care over the past two years, one could conclude only that this Bill was not merely legislation, but apparently the parliamentary equivalent of the second coming. In every speech, interview and carefully staged hospital visit with sleeves rolled up, they delivered the same message: at last—at long last—the NHS was to be modernised, integrated, digitised, streamlined, revolutionised and transformed into a gleaming technological marvel, where patients floated frictionlessly through a system powered entirely by innovation, efficiency and ministerial self-belief.

I say gently to Ministers that whenever a politician begins using the phrase “once-in-a-generation change” on such a regular basis, it is usually wise to place one’s hands protectively over one’s wallet, given the sheer cost of what is to follow. What became increasingly striking was not simply the scale of the promises, but the sheer showmanship of them, with the former Health Secretary speaking less like a Cabinet Minister wrestling with one of the most complex public services in the world and more like a man auditioning to narrate the trailer for his own leadership campaign documentary. And now, Madam Deputy Speaker, we arrive at the great political twist: the man who spent two years announcing the future has departed before the delivery date arrived, like an architect unveiling magnificent blueprints before quietly moving abroad just before construction begins.

Into this situation walks the new Health Secretary. Members can imagine the scene: the Prime Minister sits stubbornly in No. 10, grinning with all the reassuring confidence of a man standing knee-deep in a flooded rowing boat insisting that the situation merely requires a modest redistribution of water. Into this bunker is summoned the new Secretary of State—formerly the Chief Secretary to the Treasury, the very man who helped to allocate the famous £202 billion funding settlement now repeatedly cited as proof that every problem in British healthcare has theoretically already been solved.

[Jessica Toale (Bournemouth West) (Lab)]

I would not give the right hon. Gentleman’s political adviser a raise for their speechwriting abilities just yet. Why does he think we are having to talk about once-in-a-generation change to the NHS?

[Stuart Andrew]

I would point the hon. Lady to how the NHS was being run in Wales—it certainly was not the great success that she is trying to allude to.

In politics there are difficult jobs and there are impossible jobs, and then there is inheriting a Department after one’s predecessor spent two years promising the electorate that this is the one Bill to rule all Bills and fix virtually everything short of death itself. This was not just a hospital pass, but a hospital pass delivered by catapult.

One can almost hear the poor Secretary of State gulping. “Thank you, Prime Minister,” he replies faintly, in the tone of a man accepting command of the Titanic after it has already struck the iceberg. Off he trudges to the Department of Health and Social Care, where the automatic doors open and his nostrils are struck immediately by a strange, lingering aroma. It is not the scent of modernisation or the smell of efficiency, and it is certainly not the fragrance of falling waiting lists. No—it is the unmistakeable odour of political panic, mixed delicately with the perspiration of failed leadership manoeuvres and lightly seasoned with the ashes of abandoned promises. There waiting for him, naturally, is Sir Humphrey—because however much Governments modernise, digitise, integrate, recalibrate or synergise, Whitehall always produces a Sir Humphrey.

I can imagine the conversation. The new Secretary of State says brightly, “Good news, Sir Humphrey. I understand that my predecessor has already solved everything through the Health Bill.” At this point, an eerie silence descends. Civil servants suddenly become more fascinated by ceiling tiles, and one junior official attempts to escape through a stationery cupboard. Sir Humphrey clears his throat in the way only permanent secretaries can; a sound rather like an early—