Pertwee: The Patrician Gadget-loving Showoff

by

Posted by Craig in HTPBDET’s absence

To be fair to him, Pertwee never really stood a chance with me.

I finally understood all those schoolmates who had initially thought of Troughton as a usurper, an imposter, a new face that didn’t cut the mustard. This feeling was not helped, at all, by Pertwee’s first appearance seeing him staggering out of the TARDIS and collapsing… in Troughton’s clothes.

Several things conspired against him. We could not afford a colour television set, so I either had to watch in Black and White or watch with an acquaintance from my drama classes who was, well, a bell-end, and I did not want to “owe him”. So, I missed out entirely on the one thing Pertwee had going for him (in my view) – colour.

Secondly, because the TARDIS was confined to Earth, there was no point to my star-gazing anymore, and while I still liked admiring the night sky, it stopped being a ritual and stopped being about looking for the TARDIS.

Thirdly, my parents produced a new brother for us. This was, of course, a joyful occasion, but…in those first eighteen months he looked so much like my sister’s twin that there was a degree of melancholy that characterised his earliest days. And Pertwee’s Doctor Who was serious and so inapt as an antidote for melancholy.

Fourthly, I could not understand why Zoe and Jamie could not have stayed on. It seemed to me that Liz was, effectively, Zoe, but blonde and less perky, more wry. And the soldiers under the Brigadier – well, Jamie could have done what any of them did, so why wasn’t he there? The resentment levels were high.

Fifthly, the arrival of my new brother had made me feel odd about my communing with my departed brother, especially as much of what we had talked about was Troughton and his adventures, what might be happening to his companions, my mad plan to visit Mr and Mrs Harris from Fury From The Deep and my other mad plans, like spending days at Gatwick airport, because “you never know”, researching any London venue called The Inferno and trying to find a way to get there to maybe see Polly or the day I tried calling every Lethbridge-Stewart in the phone book ( I took , for instance, A.L.Stewart to be enough) to see if I could find the Colonel. Of course, I was slighter younger then, more wide-eyed and less aware of the smoke and mirrors of television – something drama classes put paid to quite quickly.

Finally, while Spearhead From Space is a good story – great even – it was not a patch on either Unearthly Child or Power of the Daleks. But, more than that, it was a transitional story, one that I thought would have suited Troughton just as easily and so I could not fathom why Troughton was not the Doctor. It was not Pertwee enough for me. Which seems a preposterous proposition but actually is not.

When you look at the Pertwee Doctor in Spearhead from Space and the Pertwee Doctor in Silurians, the difference is obvious. Troughton could have played the Doctor in the former, but the latter was a long distance from his style of Doctor. I guess this is a key, stark difference between Robert Holmes and Terrance Dicks: when Holmes wrote Spearhead From Space for Pertwee’s debut, Dicks, as script-editor, did not smooth the edges to make the new personality clearer; but when positions were reversed, for Robot, Holmes brought out his linguistics trowel and fashioned the Fourth Doctor – his extremes, and they are extremes, are all laid out in Robot.

I think Pertwee has the worst opening story of any Doctor to date (excepting Paul McGann who opened and closed in one outing and thus makes for a difficult comparator) in terms, not of the story itself, but in terms of introducing the new personality, setting the tone for things to come, providing the clear and tantalising prospect of the fun coming on the road ahead.

I often wonder if he had had a better, more tailored debut, whether I would have regarded him differently. Because I like Spearhead from Space – it’s a great story, actually, with one of the most iconic moments in the series history nestled among its many features and it has the Brigadier and Liz Shaw and the Autons/Nestene Consciousness.

But….it was just too Troughtonesque. It is, essentially, a reworking of The Invasion – so many of the elements are identical ( UNIT, human ally of the invading force, radio transmission being key, a machine is created to incapacitate the invaders etc. ) and, beyond doubt, the Mannequins bursting alive from shop windows sought to replicate the wonder of the Cybermen’s descent in front of St Paul’s.

By the end of Spearhead From Space, you do not have a clear sense of the Third Doctor.

Except in one respect. I had never thought of those who travelled with the Doctor as anything but his friends or substitute grand-children. I don’t think I ever thought about them as “companions” except when I saw them referred to that way in the Press. But the Third Doctor regarded Liz Shaw as an assistant – it was a tangible, and telling, distinction from his predecessors. It provided a further level of alienation between Pertwee and my adolescent watching self.

By the end of Malcolm Hulke’s wonderful Silurians, a clearer picture had emerged: this Doctor is argumentative, likes to dress up, appears to be a snob, is condescending at times, despises authority figures of all kinds, prefers a power relationship with his “assistant”, is not in harmony with the Brigadier, likes being superior, and, most impressively, focuses on the science part of being a Doctor, and is desperate to beat his incarceration by the Time Lords.

Looking back, as an adult, it is quite a heady mix. But the 13 year old that was – not that impressed, and resentful of the usurping of the Paternal Magician.

Ambassadors of Death did not help matters – despite the return of Benton (I always liked him and saw him as a kind of Jamie replacement in a way) for the first time, I actively chose to do something else rather than stay in for Doctor Who. (Did I mention I was 13?) Missing parts 2 and 4 of that story changed my relationship with the programme in subtle ways. And even though it was my hormone raging choice, I blamed Pertwee.

Inferno brought me back to the fold – my unfaithfulness was fleeting. I loved the temporal dislocation of Liz and the Doctor (another early timey-wimey moment) and the console out of the TARDIS and the alternative fascist world. It was a good way to finish the season.

Actually – another thing which must be remembered is that Doctor Who was effectively halved when Pertwee started. I had been used to months of Doctor Who (Troughton’s last season went for 44 weeks) but Pertwee brought only 25. It was a huge difference – and a momentous one. For me, colour, no Troughton and almost 20 less weeks of the programme seemed a VERY bad deal.

The next year brought three significant things: Jo Grant, the Master and The Hair of the Third Doctor. All wrapped up in the beautiful writing of Robert Holmes in the masterpiece that is Terror of the Autons.

I seemed to be the only person I knew who was sad and angry about the unexplained and unceremonious departure of Liz Shaw. I liked her – a lot. So Jo was behind the eight-ball from the start, and I found her neediness and girly voice and, frankly, unlimited capacity for silliness quite annoying. I laughed at her, but not with her. And I felt sorry for her, because although the Doctor clearly liked her, he treated her roughly and unkindly. It was a relationship I had never seen in the TARDIS and I did not care for it.

Conversely, I adored Roger Delgado’s Master from his opening scene. There was something just sublimely vile, magnificently haughty, intellectually capricious and desperately self-serving about this renegade Time Lord. I confess to never understanding why the Time Lords, who were so powerful and ruthless in relation to Troughton once they knew his location, did not mete out a worse fate to the Master – but the fact they didn’t always suggested to me that there was a wider story between the Doctor and the Master and that the Time Lords had elected to have the Doctor, as part of his punishment, deal with the Master.

The lustre Delgado brought to every story, every scene, and every frame of his work on Pertwee’s second season was incredible. And while, in my heart of hearts, I wished that Delgado had fought one battle, just one, against Troughton, I was more than content that Delgado was now here. And his presence made Pertwee better in my mind and heart.

So did Pertwee’s ridiculous hair. I liked the streak of idiosyncratic self-assuredness it represented. Together with the velvet jackets and frilly shirts and the sudden skill in Venusian Aikido, there was something deliciously odd about this version of the Doctor.

With the continued charm of the Brigadier and Benton, and the introduction of the wooden but handsome Mike Yates, there was something about the mix that was appealing. I was not hooked in quite the same way as with Hartnell or Troughton, but I was getting more relaxed.

Both Curse of Peladon and Daemons were the pick of that second season for me, but, in truth, I enjoyed all of the stories that season – but no more than I had, say, Krotons.

I just still resented Pertwee for replacing Troughton.

My Nanna often invited her grandchildren to her place for “tea and TARDIS”, as she put it. We always went willingly, all of us, because we all adored her – and she could cook and make us laugh like no one else. We didn’t know that part of the reason for these Doctor Who date nights was so that our parents could “be alone” but we didn’t care either.

Nanna always encouraged discussion about the episodes, what we liked, what scared us, what was “cool” (it was the 70s to be fair) and what we didn’t like. My older brother and my sister liked Jo the best (for very different reasons) and my little brother liked the Master “’cause he shrinks people”. We found a lot to laugh about and discuss – but we all agreed that the best thing about the series now was the Brigadier, Benton and Delgado’s Master – the rest we disagreed about. My brother thought he was Mike Yates, my sister wanted to be Jo Grant, my Nanna thought Pertwee was “dashing” and my little brother was too little to do anything but make us smile at the sheer joy that crossed his face when the theme tune started.

The other attraction about Nanna was that she got a colour TV before we did, and so the first colour Pertwee I saw was Colony in Space 4. Boy, did colour make a difference! Everything was weirder, in a wonderful way. Especially the opening titles – we all whooped with joy when we realised what the colours added to the swirling patterns we knew so well.

Of course, Nanna never gave up trying to challenge my stubbornness. She insisted on full reports about drama school and then, after the final episode of Daemons had gone to air, and while my siblings were doing other things, she cornered me while we were washing up.

Nanna: What is it about this Doctor you don’t like?

Me: He is not as good as the Second Doctor.

Nanna: And?

Me: What do you mean “And?”

Nanna: He is the Doctor. Your Doctor decided to retire. If he wanted to go, why can’t you let him?

I did not know what to say. I had not thought about it that way.

Nanna: What would your Doctor say to you about this unreasoning irritation you have for his successor?

Me: I don’t know!? How could I?

Nanna: Well, you must not have known him very well then.

I felt like she had hit me with a brick. I could not believe she doubted my devotion.

Nanna: I mean what he stood for: tolerance, acceptance, love, care.

Having thrown me off-balance, she moved in for the kill.

Nanna: You go to drama school. Why do you like the Master?

Me: Because he is good – it’s a clear, complete character.

Nanna: Well, isn’t the Third Doctor the same? Clear? Complete?

Me: Well…

Nanna: Is it his way of acting?

I was shocked. I had not thought of Pertwee as an “actor”. He was the Doctor. But as soon as she said it, I understood why she was raising it.

Pertwee was a personality performer, someone who played a role by making it as close to their own personality and self as possible. No wigs, no voices, no physical characteristics – just their own personality driving the character along. And, at once, I saw the great divide between Troughton and Pertwee: only one was an actor. Pertwee was a performer, and a bloody good one. But Troughton was a bloody good actor.

And so was Delgado and Nicholas Courtney – and together they made Pertwee better. Delgado may well be Troughton’s nearest equal in terms of acting ability in Pre Gap Doctor Who; Courtney, while not in exactly the same league, was an actor who mastered a particular type – the military mind – and who was a genius with comic timing. “Chap with wings. Five rounds rapid” may be the driest funniest line in 50 years of Doctor Who.

It was during Pertwee’s third season that I started to warm to Jo Grant – quite a lot really. She might have been ditzy and clumsy, but she was sweet and true – which made her almost a counter-point to Pertwee’s Patrician Gadget-loving Showoff. I am not convinced it was the writing – Manning was an insightful and natural performer, and she saw the way to make Pertwee softer and more appealing.

The Mutants provides a simple example:

JO: Doctor?

DOCTOR: Mmm?

JO: Are you going to be very much longer?

DOCTOR: No, nearly finished, Jo.

JO: What are you doing anyway?

DOCTOR: I’m making a minimum inertia superdrive for Bessie.

JO: Oh. Well, for your information, it’s well past lunch time, and I’m…

DOCTOR: Eh?

(Something materialises on the workbench.)

DOCTOR: Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

JO: Lunch?

DOCTOR: No.

JO: Bomb?

DOCTOR: No, nothing so exciting.

JO: Well?

DOCTOR: It’s an assignment.

JO: Well then, it is exciting.

DOCTOR: No, it’s a container of some kind, Jo, from them.

JO: Time Lords?

DOCTOR: That’s right.

JO: Well, aren’t you going to open it?

DOCTOR: I’m not allowed to open it.

JO: Huh?

DOCTOR: I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. No, I’m not meant to. I couldn’t open it, even if I wanted to. No, it’s only meant for one person, and or creature. It will only open for one person.

JO: And or creature.

DOCTOR: Yeah, that’s right. Yes, I’m just the messenger boy.

JO: Well, can’t you just refuse?

DOCTOR: They only send these things in a real emergency, Jo. It’s top priority, a three line whip. No, I’ve got to go.

JO: How do you know where to deliver it?

DOCTOR: I think that has already been decided.

JO: Hang on, wait for me. I’m coming too.

DOCTOR: That’s out of the question. It’s bound to be dangerous, probably difficult.

JO: All the more reason. You need me to look after you.

DOCTOR: Sorry, Jo, a lot of rubbish. Not this time. Au revoir!

JO: Oh, no you don’t!

There you have the gadget obsessed Doctor, the show-off Doctor, the patrician/imperious Doctor and the Doctor furious at being used as a carrier pigeon together with the bubbly, drippy, excitable and perky assistant. It’s not in the words themselves, but the way they are played. And Pertwee’s seasons are littered with scenes like these.

But it is Manning you remember here – her smile, her silly outfits which were so “in” then, her husky voice, her wide eyed cheekiness and her unswerving devotion to the Doctor, no matter how dismissive of her he was.

Jo Grant really was a first. She was the first companion (I don’t care that Pertwee referred to her as his assistant, she was a companion) to be assigned to work with the Doctor. Liz Shaw was in UNIT and Pertwee was assigned to her, really. Or, at worst, she was asked by him to help. But Liz did not take to the assignment with gusto. Jo, on the other hand, embraced it.

Importantly, Jo was the first companion whose time with the Doctor was primarily not a series of continuous adventures in time and space. She met him on Earth, as part of her job, and while there were the odd ventures into the Universe, Jo did not get to have the usual companion experience until after Three Doctors. For that alone, she was doing something entirely new in Doctor Who – and, all credit to her, she did it so well that we didn’t, at the time anyway, even notice.

As to the Doctor, well, his third season provides some wonderful moments, some incisive exclamation points about the Third Doctor:

Day of the Daleks:

CONTROLLER: Some more wine, Doctor?

DOCTOR: No, thank you, no, not for me. Though I must admit, it’s an excellent vintage. Well, it’s the finest I’ve tasted since, er, well, since we had dinner at old Styles’ house. Do you remember, Jo?

JO: It seems a long time ago.

DOCTOR: It was. Two hundred years to be precise. And quite frankly, I wish I was back there now.

CONTROLLER: Naturally, you prefer the twentieth century, Doctor. After all, it is your own time.

DOCTOR: Oh, I’ve known many times, and some of them much more pleasant than others.

JO: Well, I quite like it here, I must say. Everyone’s been most kind.

DOCTOR: Well, I met some people today who were far from kind.

CONTROLLER: That was a simple mistake, Doctor, I assure you. You must not jump to conclusions.

DOCTOR: Well, better than jumping from the crack of a whip from some security guard. Do you run all your factories like that, Controller?

CONTROLLER: That was not a factory, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Oh? Then what was it?

CONTROLLER: A rehabilitation centre. A rehabilitation centre for hardened criminals.

DOCTOR: Including old men and women, even children?

CONTROLLER: There will always be people who need discipline, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Now that’s an old fashioned point of view, even from my standards.

CONTROLLER: I can assure you that this planet has never been more efficiently, more economically run. People have never been happier or more prosperous.

DOCTOR: Then why do you need so many people to keep them under control? Don’t they like being happy and prosperous?

JO: You’re being a bit unreasonable, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Am I now?

JO: Well, look, the Controller wants to help you.

DOCTOR: Does he? I wonder why?

JO: You’re not on the side of the criminals, surely? They wanted to kill you.

DOCTOR: When I meet a regime that needs to import savage alien life forms as security guards, I begin to wonder who the real criminals are.

JO: Those creatures aren’t really savage.

CONTROLLER: Exactly. They are simply guard dogs. They just do what I tell them.

DOCTOR: You mean there aren’t enough humans around that will follow your orders so blindly?

CONTROLLER: That is not what I was saying.

DOCTOR: Isn’t it? Then what you’re saying is that the entire human population of this planet, apart from a few remarkable exceptions like yourself, are really only fit to lead the life of a dog. Why?

CONTROLLER: You have no right to say that!

DOCTOR: Haven’t I? Who really rules this planet of yours?

CONTROLLER: I’m sorry, I must go. I have work to do. You will excuse me.

JO: You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. You don’t know the whole picture.

DOCTOR: Neither do you, Jo. Neither do you. That man is no more than a superior slave himself. Humans don’t rule this world any longer, Jo.

JO: Then, who does?

DOCTOR: The most evil, ruthless life form in the cosmos. The Daleks.

And later:

DOCTOR: My dear man, how can I tell you what I don’t know myself?

CONTROLLER: But you were in contact with the guerillas?

JO: But not from choice. Look, they were going to kill him. I know the Doctor would help you if he could.

CONTROLLER: I am trying to help him! I’ve already save his life.

DOCTOR: Yes, for your own purposes.

CONTROLLER: Look, if you do not tell me everything that manager knew about these criminals, where they operate from, what their plans are, then the Daleks will destroy both of you.

DOCTOR: I don’t doubt it.

CONTROLLER: Do you value life so little?

DOCTOR: On that contrary, I value it enormously. The Daleks will kill us whatever we tell you.

CONTROLLER: Not if you cooperate with them.

DOCTOR: As you cooperate with them? Do you really think that makes any difference?

CONTROLLER: They can be reasonable.

DOCTOR: Reasonable? They tolerate you as long as you’re useful to them.

CONTROLLER: I am a senior government official.

DOCTOR: You sir, you sir, are a traitor! You’re a Quisling!

CONTROLLER: Silence! You do not understand. Nobody who did not live through those terrible years can understand. Towards the end of the twentieth century, a series of wars broke out. There was a hundred years of nothing but killing, destruction. Seven eighths of the world’s population was wiped out. The rest were living in holes in the ground, starving, reduced to the level of animals.

JO: So the Daleks saw their opportunity and took over.

CONTROLLER: There was no power on Earth to stop them.

DOCTOR: So, they’ve turned the Earth into a giant factory, with all the wealth and minerals were looted and taken to Skaro.

CONTROLLER: Exactly. Men who were strong enough, of course, were sent down the mines, the rest work in factories.

JO: Why? Why are they doing all this?

CONTROLLER: They need a constant flow of raw materials. Their empire is expanding.

JO: How did you come to work for them?

CONTROLLER: They chose a few humans to help them get things going again, to organise the remaining population. My family have been controllers in this area for three generations.

DOCTOR: A family of Quislings, eh?

Pertwee’s undisguised contempt for and fury with the Controller was remarkable to experience. Vintage Hartnell, tempered with the fierce directness of Troughton when angry, but fuelled with a vitriol that came from a position of assumed superiority. It is a pivotal moment, a defining one for the Third Doctor, and easily the best thing about Day of the Daleks.

In Time Monster:

DOCTOR: Any luck?

JO: Funnily enough, they didn’t include Atlantean chains in my escapology course. No, it’s no good. Doctor, what are we going to do?

DOCTOR: Well, we’ll just have to play it by ear, won’t we.

JO: What happens if the Master wins?

DOCTOR: Well, the whole of creation is very delicately balanced in cosmic terms, Jo. If the Master opens the floodgates of Kronos’ power, all order and all structure will be swept away, and nothing will be left but chaos.

JO: Makes it seem so pointless really, doesn’t it.

DOCTOR: I felt like that once when I was young. It was the blackest day of my life.

JO: Why?

DOCTOR: Ah, well, that’s another story. I’ll tell you about it one day. The point is, that day was not only my blackest, it was also my best.

JO: Well, what do you mean?

DOCTOR: Well, when I was a little boy, we used to live in a house that was perched halfway up the top of a mountain. And behind our house, there sat under a tree an old man, a hermit, a monk. He’d lived under this tree for half his lifetime, so they said, and he’d learned the secret of life. So, when my black day came, I went and asked him to help me.

JO: And he told you the secret? Well, what was it?

DOCTOR: Well, I’m coming to that, Jo, in my own time. Ah, I’ll never forget what it was like up there. All bleak and cold, it was. A few bare rocks with some weeds sprouting from them and some pathetic little patches of sludgy snow. It was just grey. Grey, grey, grey. Well, the tree the old man sat under, that was ancient and twisted and the old man himself was, he was as brittle and as dry as a leaf in the autumn.

JO: But what did he say?

DOCTOR: Nothing, not a word. He just sat there, silently, expressionless, and he listened whilst I poured out my troubles to him. I was too unhappy even for tears, I remember. And when I’d finished, he lifted a skeletal hand and he pointed. Do you know what he pointed at?

JO: No.

DOCTOR: A flower. One of those little weeds. Just like a daisy, it was. Well, I looked at it for a moment and suddenly I saw it through his eyes. It was simply glowing with life, like a perfectly cut jewel. And the colours? Well, the colours were deeper and richer than you could possibly imagine. Yes, that was the daisiest daisy I’d ever seen.

JO: And that was the secret of life? A daisy? Honestly, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Yes, I laughed too when I first heard it. So, later, I got up and I ran down that mountain and I found that the rocks weren’t grey at all, but they were red, brown and purple and gold. And those pathetic little patches of sludgy snow, they were shining white. Shining white in the sunlight. You still frightened, Jo?

JO: No, not as much as I was.

DOCTOR: That’s good. I’m sorry I brought you to Atlantis.

JO: I’m not.

DOCTOR: Thank you.

That scene with Jo reminded me forcefully and definitely of the scene between Troughton and Victoria in Tomb of the Cybermen. I could easily imagine Troughton telling that story in much the same way.

And, in that moment, I saw that there were not three different Doctors – just one. There was a clear through-line of experience, wanderlust, a thirst for knowledge, burning scientific curiosity, a brilliance of thinking and kindness. It might manifest itself in different ways and he might have different faces, but there was one Doctor.

Nanna agreed with me. She too had been struck with the similarity of tone and intent with the Tomb of the Cybermen scene. Her postcard that week said:

Do you still feel that this Doctor is not your Doctor? Can you not see him, hear him, watch him, but also know that in him your Doctor lives on forever – you keep him alive by paying attention and holding him in your heart and mind. And if you always look for the daisiest of daisies, you will always be the best you can be and inspire others to be that way too. Just as your Doctor always did.

I still have that postcard too. A great life lesson. Your closest loved ones are always with you if you give them your time and attention. In truth, no principle for living could be sounder.

It was the last great inspiration she gave me – because between Time Monster and Three Doctors, on November 23, 1972, my Nanna died. Suddenly and without pain or warning.

I never got to say goodbye to her while she was living.

I can’t fully articulate the grief I felt. But she left me a letter (of course, she did; she left letters for us all. The moment was prepared for!) which gave me comfort.

And then, almost as if she had arranged it as a parting gift, Three Doctors was broadcast.

It might not be much of a story, but Three Doctors delivers in ways which transcend the narrative.

Apart from the shock and nostalgia, Three Doctors articulates eloquently the impossibility, the timey-wimey nature of Doctor Who. Time streams are crossed, the First Rule of Time is shattered in the name of Universal good; we dip into the mythology of Gallifrey, encounter Omega, commence the fusion of the life the Doctor had and ran away from and the life he has, Jo gets along with Troughton and, more subtlety but incredibly importantly, Troughton and Pertwee get along. There is my Doctor giving Pertwee his tacit approval.

This changed everything for me – but, equally, it changed everything for Pertwee.

Some fans are always banging on about Tom Baker essentially playing two Doctors, but, really, it is Pertwee who does that. Discounting the transitional debut, the Third Doctor from Silurians to Three Doctors is the angry, resentful Patrician Gadget-loving Showoff; he takes out his exile on those around him, is churlish and bad tempered at times and is motivated by the desire to escape Earth, to resume his wanderings through Time and Space. But once he is freed, both by interacting with his former selves and by having his memories and understanding of the theories of time travel restored, he is immeasurably happier, more relaxed, funnier and full of the joy of life. You really can believe in later Pertwee seeking out those daisies. He becomes the happy, jocular Patrician Gadget-loving Showoff.

In his first three seasons, the emphasis is on Patrician, but after Three Doctors, it is more about Showoff. Gadget-loving is the true consistency.

Carnival of Monsters cemented this for me and it is there, in Robert Holmes’ wonderful script about bureaucracy and exploitation that my love for the Third Doctor really starts.

There – or maybe a week earlier. You see, after the final episode of Three Doctors was broadcast, my older brother gathered his siblings together. He was very secretive, but Mother and Father were in on it, because when we went into the dining room a real treat – a proper party spread – was waiting for us.

Nanna had left my older brother instructions in her letter to him. She wanted us all to sit together and discuss the Three Doctors and, specifically, to tell the photo of my lost brother the whole story. I don’t know if she had known what story would be the one to be broadcast after she died, but she had prepared a plan. She wanted my youngest brother to share in the story-telling ritual with my lost brother; she thought it was important for him.

My sister and I were startled by all this. We had just experienced the first Christmas in our lives without Nanna and here she was still giving us presents.

My littlest brother, then about 3½, was excited by the party food and excited by the whole idea. He sat with the photo of my lost brother while we three told the story. He kept on saying “It’s not a pipe!” and “I don’t like it” and “Me! Me!” and “It was perfectly alright til you touched it” at irregular intervals throughout our retelling. My sister played Jo, my older brother did all the other males apart from the Brigadier and the Troughton Doctor which, of course, I did. We laughed until we cried. My little brother was so happy, so excited and so glad to be part of it all.

And, of course, that night we all sat outside and looked at the stars, searching for the TARDIS and waving at Nanna.

When my children were little, that story was the one they always wanted to hear when they were sad and just wanted to be reassured. It never failed.

Frontier in Space was wonderful; the Draconians, so regal and exotic, the Ogrons so stupid, the Master so full of contempt and Machiavellian guile, Jo in her best ever-performance (“Thank you, Miss Grant, we’ll let you know) and Pertwee in tip-top form. And then the surprise reveal of the involvement of the Daleks and the rushed confused ending which saw a deathly ill Doctor calling on the Time Lords for help and collapsing as the TARDIS dematerialised for Spiridon. Magic!

Of course, we had no idea then that Delgado would never re-appear. And we expected him every week in Planet of the Daleks. But he never returned. He died on the 18 June 1973 I discovered much later. 5 days before the last episode of Green Death went to air. Such a tragic untimely end to a wonderful actor who was instrumental in making the era of the Third Doctor resonate so widely with so many.

I never cared much for Green Death and confess to paying it not the greatest of attention. The maggots seemed silly to me, but my little brother was terrified by them so I was always there to make sure he was alright. It was fascinating to be not quite so wrapped up in a story that my little brother enjoyed so much.

But the positions were reversed when Jo suddenly announced her decision to marry Professor Jones and head up the Amazon. I felt like I had been hit in the face with a brick. I had not been paying enough attention and had not seen the clues in Green Death, despite the fact that I had wondered if she was going to marry Latep and go to live on Skaro in Planet of the Daleks:

TARON: Doctor, we’d never have succeeded without all your help. I wish there was some way of thanking you.

DOCTOR: As a matter of fact, there is.

REBEC: Yes, Doctor?

DOCTOR: Throughout history, you Thals have always been known as one of the most peace loving peoples in the galaxy.

TARON: I hope we always will be.

DOCTOR: Yes, well that’s what I mean. When you get back to Skaro, you’ll all be national heroes. Everybody will want to hear about your adventures.

TARON: Of course.

DOCTOR: So be careful how you tell that story, will you? Don’t glamorise it. Don’t make war sound like an exciting and thrilling game.

TARON: I understand.

DOCTOR: Tell them about the members of your mission that will not be returning, like Maro and Vaber and Marat. Tell them about the fear, otherwise your people might relish the idea of war. We don’t want that.

REBEC: You can depend on us.

DOCTOR: Thank you, my dear. Well, you’d better get aboard, I think.

TARON: What about them?

DOCTOR: I’m not sure about them. Goodbye, Rebec.

REBEC: Goodbye, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Taron?

TARON: Goodbye, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Good luck. (Taron follows Rebec.)

LATEP: Doctor, I’ve asked Jo to come back to Skaro with me. Would you have any objections?

DOCTOR: If that what she wants, no.

LATEP: Well, Jo? Is it?

JO: No, I’m sorry, Latep. Look, I’m very fond of you, but you see, I’ve got my own world and my own life to go back to.

That scene is remarkable for a number of reasons but it never seemed to me that Jo got a fair deal when she actually left. Because her final scene is not about her really – it’s about how much the Third Doctor has changed, grown softer and more caring since Three Doctors. It might be her farewell scene but it is all about him:

DOCTOR: You got onto your uncle at United Nations, didn’t you?

JO: It’s only the second time I’ve ever asked him for anything.

DOCTOR: Yes, and look where the first time got you.

JO: You don’t mind, do you?

DOCTOR: Mind? He might even be able to turn you into a scientist.

JO: Don’t go too far away, will you? And if you do, come back and see us sometime.

DOCTOR: Yes.

BRIGADIER: Thank you. Lovely.

DOCTOR: Save me a piece of wedding cake.

JO: Right.

DOCTOR: Oh, I nearly forgot. Your wedding present.

(The Doctor gives Jo the Metebelis crystal.)

JO: It’s beautiful. Thank you, Doctor.

JONES: Hey, Jo, come and drink a toast to the happy couple.

JO: But that’s us.

JONES: Aye, so it is. Don’t worry, Doctor. I’ll look after her.

And then he, literally, slips away and drives off into the sunset. “So, the fledgling flies the coop”.

It is as touching and sad as any separation from a companion to date, but not because we are sad for the companion – but because we are sad for the Doctor. More than anything else, for me, it evoked that final scene in Dalek Invasion of Earth when Hartnell leaves Susan with David Campbell. For the first time, the sense that the Doctor is lonely is palpable.

I cried unexpectedly and unashamedly at that scene. Which terrified my poor little brother. He did not know what I was crying about. Everyone was having a party and the Doctor was driving off in Bessie. Why was I crying? So he started crying – and then we were both crying and hugging, and then laughing and being brothers. And it was all okay.

Pertwee’s final year saw the arrival of the remarkable Sarah-Jane Smith. She was breath-taking from her first appearance and I fell totally in love with her (in a viewer/character kind of way) immediately. And just as Vicki had perked up Hartnell, Zoe had make Troughton rise to the occasion, so Sarah-Jane Smith brought out the absolute best in Pertwee. I don’t think he was ever better than in his final season.

We finally got a colour television at home and so Monster of Peladon was the very first Doctor Who story I saw all the way through in colour. I remember being spellbound by that story.

Planet of the Spiders, way too long, full of silly chase sequences and dreadful special effects was, however, the perfect farewell for Pertwee. It so completely summed up his time as the Doctor and let him go out with style, panache and his best performance. There are three key scenes which exemplify why this is so:

SARAH: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Doctor.

DOCTOR: What have you got to be sorry about? You did very well. You should be proud of yourself.

SARAH: To let that creature take me over like that. I mean, I actually volunteered.

K’ANPO: We are all apt to surrender ourselves to domination. Even the strongest of us.

DOCTOR: Do you mean me?

K’ANPO: Not all spiders sit on the back.

SARAH: Oh, I don’t understand. You’re not saying they’ve taken over the Doctor, are you?

DOCTOR: Oh no, Sarah, no. No, he’s talking about my greed.

SARAH: Greed? You?

DOCTOR: Yes, my greed for knowledge, for information. He’s saying that all this is basically my fault. If I hadn’t taken the crystal in the first place. I know who you are now.

K’ANPO: You were always a little slow on the uptake, my boy.

DOCTOR: It’s been a long, long time.

SARAH: You know each other?

DOCTOR: Oh, yes. Yes, he was my teacher. My, my guru, if you like. In another time, another place.

K’ANPO: Another life.

SARAH: Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re a Time Lord too?

K’ANPO: I am. But the discipline they serve was not for me.

DOCTOR: No. Nor for me.

K’ANPO: I wouldn’t have chosen your alternative. To borrow a Tardis was a little naughty, to say the least.

DOCTOR: Yes, well, I had to get away. I hadn’t your power.

K’ANPO: Indeed. I regenerated and came to Earth, to Tibet.

SARAH: Regenerated?

DOCTOR: Yes. Yes, when a Time Lord’s body wears out, he regenerates, becomes new.

K’ANPO: That is why we can live such a long time.

SARAH: I see. Well, what about Cho-Je? Is he a Time Lord, too?

K’ANPO: In a sense. In another sense, he doesn’t exist.

SARAH: You’ve lost me.

DOCTOR: Me too, I’m afraid.

K’ANPO: Cho-Je is a projection of my own self.

And

GREAT ONE: Stop! Have you brought the crystal to me?

DOCTOR: Well if I had not, why should I have returned?

GREAT ONE: Very well. Very well, advance.

DOCTOR: I’ve brought you the crystal. Now why don’t you just take it and leave the humans in peace, both here and on Earth?

GREAT ONE: You think I care for the puny plans of my subjects? Earth? One paltry planet among millions? Give me the crystal. I thirst for it! I ache for it!

DOCTOR: Well, why is it so important to you?

GREAT ONE: You see this web of crystal above my head? It reproduces the pattern of my brain. One perfect crystal and it will be complete. That is the perfect crystal I need.

DOCTOR: And then?

GREAT ONE: My every thought will resonate within the web, and grow in power until, until, until

DOCTOR: But you’ve built a positive feedback circuit. You’re trying to increase your mental powers to infinity.

GREAT ONE: Exactly! I shall be the ruler of the entire universe!

DOCTOR: Now listen to me. Listen. I haven’t got much time left. What you’re trying to do is impossible. If you complete that circuit, the energy will build up and up until it cannot be contained. You will destroy yourself.

GREAT ONE: You waste the little time remaining to you. Even now the cave of crystal is destroying the cells of your body. I will grant you one last favour. You may watch the completion of my triumph before you die!

GREAT ONE: I am complete! Now I am total power! All praise to the Great One!

DOCTOR: Stop. Stop! Don’t you see what’s happened to you?

GREAT ONE: All praise to the Great One! All praise to me! Bow down before me, planets! Bow down, stars! Bow down, all galaxies and worship the Great One! The me! The Great, all-powerful me! Argh!

GREAT ONE: I hurt! Help me! I am burning! My brain is on fire! Help me!

And

SARAH: Doctor!

DOCTOR: Hello, Sarah. I got lost in the time vortex. The Tardis brought me home.

SARAH: Oh! Oh, Doctor, why did you have to go back?

DOCTOR: I had to face my fear, Sarah. I had to face my fear. That was more important than just going on living.

SARAH: Please, don’t die.

DOCTOR: A tear, Sarah Jane? No, don’t cry. While there’s life there’s…

SARAH: No.

CHO-JE: It’s all right. He is not dead.

SARAH: Oh no. I don’t think I can take much more.

CHO-JE: I am sorry to have startled you, my dear.

BRIGADIER: Won’t you introduce me to your friend, Miss Smith?

SARAH: Oh, er, yes. This is the Abbot of. No, it’s Cho-Je. I mean, it looks like Cho-Je but it is really K’Anpo Rinpoche. I think.

BRIGADIER: Thank you. That makes everything quite clear.

CHO-JE: The Doctor is alive.

SARAH: No, you’re wrong. He’s dead.

CHO-JE: All the cells of his body have been devastated by the Metebelis crystals, but you forget, he is a Time Lord. I will give the process a little push and the cells will regenerate. He will become a new man.

BRIGADIER: Literally?

CHO-JE: Of course, he will look quite different.

BRIGADIER: Not again.

CHO-JE: And it will shake up the brain cells a little. You may find his behaviour somewhat erratic.

SARAH: When will all this happen?

CHO-JE: Well there’s no time like the present, is there.

CHO-JE: Goodbye. Look after him.

BRIGADIER: Now wait a moment.

SARAH: Look, Brigadier. Look. I think it’s starting.

BRIGADIER: Well, here we go again.

The K’Anpo scenes demonstrate that the Third Doctor’s haughtiness was just a cover, a veneer, a self-protection mechanism. He turns out to be more multi-faceted than originally seemed the case. Writing him off as an “action man” is to do him a great dis-service; almost as much as thinking of him as a “Space Dandy”. He may be those things, but he is much much more: an inventor, a scientist, a mentor, a pacifist, a clown, a trickster and an agent of chaos. “Vain to the point of arrogance, a trifle obstinate, perhaps, but basically a good man”: the Third Doctor could have been talking about himself rather than Sir Reginald Styles.

Pertwee died a hero’s death, committing suicide to correct his own mis-step. But, even when faced with the certainty of his death, he tries to save the Queen and he comforts Sarah-Jane. He dies with his best friends, Sarah-Jane Smith and the Brigadier

He certainly is the Doctor, in every respect, when he dies.

I was lucky enough, in February 1982, to be invited to a private dinner that Pertwee was Guest of Honour at just after Davison had taken over. In real life, as on screen, he was a giant presence and he lit up the room when he entered. He was friendly, charming and witty, attentive to his wife and perhaps slightly too attentive to mine. He cooed over our newborn baby son and, rather extraordinarily, sang the lullaby to Aggedor from Curse of Peladon when he needed settling after a late night feed.

Pertwee liked good red wine every much as the Third Doctor seemed to and he regaled us all with saucy tales about a life misspent in theatrical pursuits. We only talked briefly about Doctor Who but he was very interested in my story about how Troughton’s performance had inspired me to train properly as an actor/theatre practitioner.

He looked at me with clear, sparkling eyes and said: “I learnt more from that old bugger in one month than I learnt all my life.” He paused and then lent forward conspiratorially and said, just as he had delivered “I’m quite spry for my age, actually”, in Green Death:

“Mind you. All he could do was act.”


One comment

  1. Terrific stuff @HTPBDET, as always.

    I like the way you push on the narative of the Doctor(s) and the way it is intertwined with your own history. I appreciate you putting yourself out there and allowing us a glimpse of your own personal journey

    Although I did wonder if you were going to admit that a fondness for Jo was based on the “knicker flashing scene” in DotD 🙂

Leave a Reply