It was a very strange time, that long period between Ultimate Foe and the start of Time and the Rani.

Four children, a remarkably happy and thriving career in theatre and television (now more writing, directing and producing rather than acting) – and no Doctor Who. I missed it – but I preferred it ended to continuing as it had been under JNT and Colin Baker.

Then three things happened within the space of 6 months.

Our youngest child died. The same genetic issue which had claimed my brother twenty years earlier took him. Suddenly, without any real warning. He had, of course, been checked out, but this was a rare and complex condition and, truthfully, it was as much of a mystery to the specialists as to us.

There is nothing to describe the horror, pain and sheer helplessness of holding your five year old sunny boisterous child after the last flicker of joy has passed his lips.

It devastated all of us. My gorgeous Scottish Leela never recovered and commenced a downward spiral into depression which would last the rest of her life.

I stopped work for a couple of months and spent time at home with my fledglings – as each underwent endless testing, to see if they might be suffering from the same condition. Again, there is nothing, no possible way, to describe the look your children give you when they fear the worst but don’t want you to suffer.

Then, one day, when McLeela was with her mother in Tuscany on a two week break, my eldest son brought me the morning paper. He looked so solemn, on the point of tears. He hugged me, hard, then stepped back and handed me the paper, which was folded, open at a particular story.

“I am so sorry Daddy” he said. Both the girls were close behind him, hovering, just as they did whenever Daleks or Cybermen were on screen.

Patrick Troughton had died. And they had found out before me – and there they all were, worried about me. We all hugged a lot, and cried a lot, and sat in our pyjamas most of the day as I told them stories about the Second Doctor and the great things he did. And we ordered fish and chips and, still in our pyjamas, watched Five Doctors together thank to our huge shiny but clunky video-recorder.

It was my eldest daughter’s idea to go and sit outside and look at the stars together. She knew all the old family stories about Power of the Daleks and my brother’s death. So, like every sensible woman, and very much her mother’s daughter, she took charge of the useless men and trooped us all outside – and we looked for the TARDIS, and particularly the stars that shone the brightest – because, she said wisely, they were sure to be my brother’s, my son/their brother’s and Patrick Troughton’s stars shining back at us.

My eldest brother came over that night, unannounced, but he knew that Troughton’s death would have affected me. And he took a photo of us all, daft as drunk badgers, sitting on the steps in pyjamas and looking at the stars and laughing or crying – or “craghing” as the smallest daughter put it. That picture goes with me everywhere.

Troughton’s death shocked me. It felt like I had lost a part of me, and, I guess, in a way, I had. He had given me the interest and enthusiasm for acting and theatre which, fuelled by my Grandmother, had led to a happy and fulfilling career. I owed him and his Paternal Magician a lot.

The fledglings and I all slept together in the one bed that night. March 30 1987. It was the last time we ever did that together. My youngest’s favourite Winnie The Pooh soft-toy was with us too. It was a special night – and while I did not sleep much, my fledglings did, more from emotional exhaustion than physical tiredness. And as I watched them sleep, I remembered myself at their ages and the battles and highs and lows of the first two Doctors, but especially the Second.

About two weeks later, my agent called. Doctor Who had sent out a casting notice. There was to be a new season with a new Doctor and was I interested in a three episode part in one of the stories? The agent did not know much but said that it was “Hi-De-Hi in Space or something”.

I said I would look at the breakdown and the script.

My worlds had finally collided. It was startling to say the least.

But I knew almost immediately I would say “No thanks” to the opportunity. The programme was too important to me, too wrapped up in my actual life experience, for me to do my professional standing or my own self any good by participating. Doctor Who was the one corner of the acting world which I kept in my heart and I did not want to endanger that connection, that feeling. So, I said “No thanks” and thoroughly annoyed my agent because the fee was rather good.

It turned out to be Delta and the Bannermen – so it was a wise decision made for purely selfish, and perhaps slightly idiotic, reasons.

Sylvester McCoy was well known to me, professionally. I had not worked with him, although in the Nineties we did work together (very happily),  but I had seen him on stage and knew and admired his work. He seemed a surprising choice, especially as the industry had been rife with rumours that an earlier Doctor (everyone assumed Tom Baker) was being considered.

When Time and the Rani began, I can’t say that my heart leapt with joy. The face in the opening titles winked for God’s sake! The sequence with the TARDIS crash-landing seemed stupid and I was never happy that the Rani could just waltz into the TARDIS as if it were a bus. But Colin Baker was gone and it was interesting how inoffensive his silly outfit seemed on a different man, a man clearly at home with prat falls and clownish antics.

McCoy was a hurricane of fresh air and energy. He was zany and impossible and unpredictable – did he just play the spoons on Kate O’Mara’s breasts? He was clearly finding his way – sometimes he seemed out of his depth, other times he seemed up to the task. There is an early exchange with the Rani, though, which indicated steely determination in a quirky way:

            RANI: This is idiotic. You’ll injure yourself.

DOCTOR: Why should you care? Since you were exiled from Gallifrey, you’ve had nothing but contempt for all other Time Lords.

RANI: My contempt started long before my exile.

DOCTOR: And what do you want with me? And where’s Mel?

RANI: She’s perfectly safe, but how long she remains so depends on you.

DOCTOR: You’re up to something. Perhaps I’ll find the answer on this.

RANI: You won’t recognise the planet. It’s Lakertya, and there’s no evidence that it’s ever been graced by your meddling presence.

DOCTOR: You’re trying to deflect me, so the answer is on here. Quarks. One up, one down. One strange matter? That asteroid is composed of strange matter. What monstrous experiment are you dabbling in now?

RANI: I didn’t go to the trouble of bringing you here just to discuss the ethics of my work.

DOCTOR: Ethics? Don’t be such a hypocrite. Your past is littered with the mutilated results of your unethical experiments.

RANI: I had all I can take of that cant in our university days. Am I expected to abandon my research because of the side effects on inferior species. Are you prepared to abandon walking in case you squash an insect underfoot?

And, really, when you look back on it, McCoy’s Doctor is laid out fairly comprehensively in that exchange. He is a surprising Doctor, more unpredictable than any other, with a keen mind and a penchant for rattling off theories or explanations and then taking pause. He would act and speak – and then think. And he could be abrupt, but never offensive; querulous but not condescending; curious but not simplistic.

I quite liked the Rani and thought she and McCoy were okay together – a much more interesting and possibility-filled combination than idiotic Ainley and anyone.

But there were three key problems in that first McCoy year.

The first was Mel. She simply did not work – at all – with McCoy. I found this curious at the time, but now it seems obvious. Bonnie Langford and McCoy really came from similar clowning roots – there was no contrast between their ways of performing, their notions of characterisation, and their instincts for comedy. The result was that Langford took Mel to higher levels of over-acting, probably as her way of competing. In truth, though, if she had played more deadpan to McCoy she would have had a much better impact and their partnership might not be regarded with such distaste now. Whatever you might think of Dodo, re-watching her in remaining episodes now is not nearly as painful as re-watching the high-octane squealing club act that Langford’s Mel became.

The second was the writing. I can remember so much from the stories of the First through Fifth Doctors, but put a gun to my head and I am flat out remembering anything about this season. The stories were complicated but truly boring. No Doctor had had to put up with such terrible writing for their entire debut season.

I can count on one hand the matters of interest in that 24^th season: the return of the Rani, Richard Briers in curious form as the Caretaker, the arrival of Ace, the melting face of Kane and Mel’s departure. An odd assortment of curious ideas, mostly executed appallingly by JNT and his team.

The third was the production team. They just did not seem to have any idea what they wanted Doctor Who to be anymore: with the result that Season 24 is the worst season in the history of the programme. The era of the Sixth Doctor was bad Doctor Who; Season 24 was completely rubbish television – and it was not because of Sylvester McCoy.

That said, you can see a pathway to the future sown in the farewell scene for Mel:

MEL: Well, I suppose it’s time.
DOCTOR: Time? Funny old business, time. It delights in frustrating your plans. All Kane’s perfidious aims thwarted by a quirk of time.
MEL: No, I meant I suppose it’s time I should be going.
DOCTOR: Oh.
MEL: Time that I left.
DOCTOR: Yes, well, you could be right. Time for you to go.
MEL: Before I go, I
DOCTOR: Well, it is time.
MEL: Doctor.
DOCTOR: You must go.
MEL: Before I go I’d like to say
DOCTOR: There’s no point, Mel. No point hanging around wasting time.
MEL: No, I’m not going until I’ve said my piece. I just want to say that
DOCTOR: There’s no time, Mel.
MEL: Oh, all right, you win.
DOCTOR: I do. I usually do.
MEL: I’m going now.
DOCTOR: That’s right, yes, you’re going. Been gone for ages. Already gone, still here, just arrived, haven’t even met you yet. It all depends on who you are and how you look at it. Strange business, time.
MEL: Goodbye, Doctor.
DOCTOR: I’m sorry, Mel. Think about me when you’re living your life one day after another, all in a neat pattern. Think about the homeless traveller and his old police box, with his days like crazy paving.
MEL: Who said anything about home? I’ve got much more crazy things to do yet. 

The notion of the lonely madman with a box starts here. The notion of really paying attention to the “timey-wimey” aspect of time travel starts here.  The first tentative steps to time paradox frenzy start here. And, rather more subtlety, the notion of the Doctor as omniscient manipulator, the notion which would become the powering force of McCoy’s time as the Doctor, also starts here.  Because it seems clear the Doctor wants Ace to come with him and prefers Mel to keep an eye of Glitz: nothing is expressly said, but that is the feeling.

And, of course, this was the first time that the Doctor did not speak with an “RP” accent. It didn’t bother me, but it outraged McLeela.

None of my children were particularly taken by McCoy until Ace arrived and then, suddenly, all three were quite interested. Ace was a palpable hit in our household and even McLeela was drawn to this feisty, off-hand and anarchic Nitro-9 wielding dynamo. There was just something about Sophie Aldred which completely worked with Sylvester McCoy – exactly as Elisabeth Sladen and Louise Jamieson had both completely worked, albeit totally differently, with Tom Baker. Indeed, in a number of ways it seemed to me that Ace was a fusion of Sarah-Jane, Leela, Zoe and Jo: a heady mix. And we all loved the way she disregarded his chosen non-de-plume for “The Professor”.

Having the family united again over Doctor Who was worth a lot to me – and I will always fondly regard McCoy and Aldred for that. Because it was them, the sheer force of their chemistry together, which made it happen.

So, months later, we were all together for Remembrance of the Daleks. And what a glitzy explosive ride through the quagmire of continuity that turned out to be. Whatever you might think of the story, it was packed full of fun and it was the first time in years that Doctor Who felt like it was zinging along. Many people regard it as “too much” and “over the top”, and it is, but, equally, it is celebratory of the programme’s history and the central conceit (warring Dalek factions seeking complete power over time travel) had resonances both forward and backward in time for the programme.

Some of it was silly, some of it was thrilling, some of it was scary and some of it was ridiculous – but there was more than enough to enjoy.

Of course, McCoy is a far stranger and stronger presence than he had been in Dragonfire. The difference is not as marked as between Pertwee’s first and second seasons, but it is similar. This Doctor knows precisely what he is doing, bumbles only when it suits him, seems to know way more than he reasonably could, or should, keeps secrets, loves to appear mysterious, will not explain himself and is bold and relatively fearless despite apparently overwhelming odds, assured that a trick (up his sleeve or at the end of his umbrella) will save the day.

If ever there was a post-War Games story which “changed everything”, it was this one. The Doctor had taken the Hand of Omega from Gallifrey and hidden it on Earth? Not only had he stolen a TARDIS but a device that was key to Time Lord time travel technology…Really? And the Time Lords had not been able to trace it and did not mention it when they were sentencing him to exile of Earth? And was the Doctor actually there when Omega and Rassilon founded the Time Lord society?

It was at once beguiling and irritating. The concept of the Doctor as curious inter-galactic wanderer seemed a much more attractive one than rueful harbinger of doom – and, frankly, still does.

But leaving those quibbles aside, Remembrance of the Daleks is the first story since Caves of Androzani to come close to the standard that Doctor Who so regularly attained BG. It’s not flawless, but it is damn good fun.

And the Remembrance in the title is, truly, more about the programme than the Daleks. This was the 25th Anniversary season after all.

So, what is there? Well: the concept of a Dalek civil war ( pure bred and augmented in conflict ) harks back to Evil of the Daleks; the setting is the same locale as for Unearthly Child; Ace narrowly avoids the debut of a new science fiction series on the BBC ( the first meta-reference I think! ), references to the Spiridon device from Planet of the Daleks; a Brigadier-type character; in Rachel, a fusion of Barbara and Liz ( Rachel echoes a speech made by Liz to the Brigadier in Spearhead from Space ) Coal Hill School and that French Revolution book (echoing Susan), Totters Lane and I M Foreman’s scrapyard, the different types of Daleks and, of course, Omega.

Then there is this echo of Three Doctors and Troughton’s testing of Omega’s self-control:

DAVROS : The Daleks shall become Lords of Time! We shall become all

DOCTOR: Powerful. Crush the lesser races. Conquer the galaxy. Unimaginable power. Unlimited rice pudding, et cetera, et cetera.

DAVROS : Do not anger me, Doctor. I can destroy you and this miserable, insignificant planet.

DOCTOR: Oh, wonderful. What power, what brilliance. You can wipe out the odd civilisation, enslave the occasional culture, but it still won’t detract from the basic fundamental truth of your own impotence!

RACHEL: Careful, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing

And this echo of Genesis of the Daleks and the key “Have pity” scene there:

DOCTOR Do you think I would let you have control of the Hand of Omega?

DAVROS: Do not do this, I beg of you.

DOCTOR Nothing can stop it now.

DAVROS: Have pity on me.

DOCTOR  I have pity for you.

DALEK: Fifteen.

DOCTOR  Goodbye, Davros. It hasn’t been pleasant.

And this further Genesis echo, which asks the same questions but in a completely different way as the great “Do I have the right?” moment between the Doctor and Sarah-Jane:

DOCTOR: A mug of tea, please.

JOHN: Cold night tonight.

DOCTOR: Yes, it is. Bitter, very bitter. Where’s Harry?

JOHN: Visiting his missus. She’s in hospital.

DOCTOR: Of course. It’ll be twins.

JOHN: Hmm? Your tea. Sugar?

DOCTOR: Ah. A decision. Would it make any difference?

JOHN: It would make your tea sweet.

DOCTOR: Yes, but beyond the confines of my tastebuds, would it make any difference?

JOHN: Not really.

DOCTOR: But

JOHN: Yeah?

DOCTOR: What if I could control people’s tastebuds? What if I decided that no one would take sugar? That’d make a difference to those who sell the sugar and those that cut the cane.

JOHN: My father, he was a cane cutter.

DOCTOR: Exactly. Now, if no one had used sugar, your father wouldn’t have been a cane cutter.

JOHN: If this sugar thing had never started, my great-grandfather wouldn’t have been kidnapped, chained up, and sold in Kingston in the first place. I’d be a African.

DOCTOR: See? Every great decision creates ripples, like a huge boulder dropped in a lake. The ripples merge, rebound off the banks in unforeseeable ways. The heavier the decision, the larger the waves, the more uncertain the consequences.

JOHN: Life’s like that. Best thing is just to get on with it.

DOCTOR: Did you see that?

JOHN: See what?

DOCTOR: Nothing. What would you do if you had a decision, a big decision?

JOHN: How big?

DOCTOR: Saving the world.

JOHN: Really?

DOCTOR: Really.

JOHN: I wish you the best of luck.

DOCTOR: Let’s hope I make the right decision. Things could get unpleasant round here. I’d take a holiday if I were you.

JOHN: Oh, sure. How long?

DOCTOR: Two or three days. After that, it won’t matter one way or the other. Thanks for the tea.

JOHN: Any time.

It was there, in that intensely mundane but profoundly philosophical moment that McCoy became the Doctor for me. And throughout this story he clearly carves out his turf in the incarnations: the enigmatic philosophical warmonger.

Because the text makes clear that this was a trap laid for the Daleks by the Doctor, with the Hand of Omega as bait. He intended the conflagration but miscalculated, not appreciating that there were two separate Dalek factions which might respond. So he was fallible too, not, thankfully, as omnipotent as might be thought.

There are other joys here. Every earlier Doctor is referenced, expressly or obliquely: Hartnell by the setting and the undertaker’s express reference to him; Troughton by the external staircase scene with Ratcliffe which evokes Tobias Vaughn in Invasion (as well as by the speech above); Pertwee by the Spiridon reference, the teleporting of the Daleks a la Day of the Daleks (but with better effects) and the pseudo Liz, Brigadier and UNIT presences; Tom Baker by several snappy exchanges emphasising the Doctor’s alien nature, the strangulation scene where the augmented claw fights back after the Dalek shell has been destroyed and the speeches above; Davison by the Turlough-like Mike who looks pretty and part of the gang but was being used against his will (at least partly) although this character, too, also represents Mike Yates from Pertwee’s time; Colin Baker by Davros’ jibe about the Doctor’s intelligence being as “inconsistent” as his face and the arrogant challenge:  “President Elect of the High Council of Time Lords, Keeper of the legacy of Rassilon, Defender of the Laws of Time, Protector of Gallifrey. I call upon you to surrender the Hand of Omega and return to your customary time and place”.

Remembrance also sees thebeginning of the “Artefact of doom” stories: a repetitive strand in these later years:  first, the Hand of Omega; then, the validium in Silver Nemesis; the medallion from Greatest Show in the Galaxy;  Excalibur from Battlefield; the hidden ship in Ghostlight; and the vase in Curse of Fenric. Silver Nemesis is the worst offender here – it is essentially a rehash of Remembrance which was only one adventure previously– but not just that, it makes the Cybermen almost figures of fun. I loathed that story.

Still McCoy was interesting and involving and Ace just got more intriguing as time went on. The Seventh Doctor actively sought danger in order to stop evil. He was a righter of wrongs, not a problem-solving traveller in time and space. He travelled in the TARDIS solely to fight evil and for no other purpose – or so it appeared.

Another first for McCoy is scored during Remembrance, at the end of Part Three when the climactic end of episode is the landing of the Dalek hovercraft in Totters Lane. McCoy makes his line comical –being the first time in the programme’s history when a joke by the lead actor served as both comic relief and the highpoint of dramatic tension for the cliff-hanger. That takes skill.

Although people constantly argue that Tom Baker was the most “alien” of Doctors, McCoy really gives him a run for his money and, frankly, is more subtle about depicting the alien nature of the Doctor. There is an indignant rage which permeates McCoy’s characterisation which sets him far apart from humankind and his relationship with Ace, while clearly paternal and deeply felt, does not seem like the relationship of Troughton and Victoria, Davison and Nyssa or Tom Baker and Sarah-Jane.

The very nature of his relationship with his main companion is a defining aspect of his alien nature. You have the feeling that he insists Ace travel with him: another first!

In Dragonfire, you have:

DOCTOR: Ace, where do you think you’re going?
ACE: Perivale.
DOCTOR: Ah yes, but by which route? The direct route with Glitz, or the scenic route? Well? Do you fancy a quick trip round the twelve galaxies and then back to Perivale in time for tea?
ACE: Ace!
DOCTOR: But there are three rules. One, I’m in charge.
ACE: Whatever you say, Professor.
DOCTOR: Two, I’m not the Professor, I’m the Doctor.
ACE: Whatever you want.
DOCTOR: And the third. Well, I’ll think up the third by the time we get back to Perivale.

And in Greatest Show in the Galaxy, you have:

DOCTOR: Enjoying the show, Ace?
ACE: Yeah. It was your show all along, wasn’t it?
MAGS: The Captain really is finished now, isn’t he?
DOCTOR: Yes. But you’re just about to start.
DEADBEAT: Doctor, I’ve been thinking.
DOCTOR: What better way for a circus to begin than with a wonderful act.
ACE: Yeah, really wonderful. Nice one, Professor. You’ll knock them dead.
MAGS: That’s just what I’m afraid of. What if I can’t control it?
DOCTOR: Oh, you can, Mags. You already have.
DEADBEAT: What about it, Doctor? You and Ace. Join Kingpin’s new circus and travel the galaxy with us.
DOCTOR: Thank you, Kingpin, but I’m afraid we’ve got other galaxies to travel. And besides, I find circuses a little sinister.

McCoy plays it lightly, but it seems clear enough that Ace has no choice. She travels at the requirement of the Doctor. We don’t know why until Curse of Fenric – it is a very clever narrative thread.

None of the other stories of the 25^th season reached the heights of Remembrance but all of them matched or exceeded its lows. Equally, though, there were intriguing ideas, particularly in Happiness Patrol and Greatest Show in the Galaxy.

Season 26 brought Battlefield, a “timey-wimey mystery of the Doctor” story which, happily, saw the return of the Brigadier in tip-top form: 

MORGAINE: A warrior, no less. How goes the day?
BRIGADIER: I’ve had better.
MORGAINE: I am Morgaine, the sun killer. Dominator of the thirteen worlds and Battle Queen of the S’Rax. What say you?
BRIGADIER: I am Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Surrender now, and we can avoid bloodshed.

There is something ineffable about the genius that was Nicholas Courtney and his retired Brigadier is just as joyous and wry as he was when first encountered in Web of Fear and Invasion.

BRIGADIER: I just can’t let you out of my sight, can I, Doctor?
DOCTOR: Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. So you recognise me, then?
BRIGADIER: Yes. Who else would it be?

Courtney never appeared with Colin Baker (thankfully in my view) but he seemed utterly at home with McCoy. It is also ironic that his last appearance in Doctor Who should see him co-starring with Jean Marsh, who had appeared with him (and killed his character) in his first appearance in the series, as Bret Vyon (when she played Sara Kingdom) in Dalek Masterplan. The dialogue seems to reflect this in a meta-reference:

MORGAINE: I wish you to know that I bear you no malice.
BRIGADIER: I understand.
MORGAINE: But when we meet again, I shall kill you.

But, of course, with Courtney having now died, joys such as this scene could not now happen:

ANCELYN: My lord Merlin.
BRIGADIER: Merlin?
ANCELYN: Oh, he has many names.
BRIGADIER: He has many faces. And he has many companions. This must be the latest one.
BAMBERA: We’ve checked the perimeter. Doctor Warmsly is staying with the vehicles.
BRIGADIER: Oh, thank you, Bambera. Oh, see if you can get a blanket for this young lady, will you?
BAMBERA: Yes, sir. Perhaps I should make some tea, too.
BRIGADIER: Well, are you all right, Miss?
ACE: Just call me the latest one, and I can get my own blanket.
BRIGADIER: Oh dear. Women. Not really my field.
DOCTOR: Don’t worry, Brigadier. People will be shooting at you soon.

Everything about Battlefield is ahead of its time; the execution of the story is what lets it down, as is so often the case during this era. The Destroyer is silly rather than frightening, which is a pity.

But consider this: could Remembrance of the Daleks or Battlefield have been stories of the Eleventh Doctor? I think the answer is Yes – trimmed and with the full production treatment, they are alive with mystery and timey-wimey-ness. Indeed, I think this is true for the entire final McCoy season: the roots, the themes, the concepts, the approach of AG Doctor Who are all, one way or another, to a greater or lesser degree, marked out or explored in that season, including, of course, the notion of the mystery of a companion being pieced together slowly.

This passage from Curse of Fenric has always struck me as a conversation that River Song could easily have with the Eleventh doctor:

ACE: You know what’s going on, don’t you?
DOCTOR: Yes.
ACE: You always know. You just can’t be bothered to tell anyone. It’s like it’s some kind of game, and only you know the rules. You knew all about that inscription being a computer programme, but you didn’t tell me. You know all about that old bottle, and you’re not telling me. Am I so stupid?
DOCTOR: No, that’s not it.
ACE: Why then? I want to know.
DOCTOR: Evil. Evil since the dawn of time.
ACE: What do you mean?
DOCTOR: Will you stop asking me these questions?
ACE: Tell me!
DOCTOR: The dawn of time. The beginning of all beginnings. Two forces only, good and evil. Then chaos. Time is born, matter, space. The universe cries out like a newborn. The forces shatter as the universe explodes outwards. Only echoes remain, and yet somehow, somehow the evil force survives. An intelligence. Pure evil!
ACE: That’s Fenric?
DOCTOR: No, that’s just Millington’s name for it. Evil has no name. Trapped inside a flask like a genie in a bottle. 

And later, Ace speaks in words that Amy Pond could easily have said, but for different reasons:

                ACE: I don’t like dark buildings. There was one in Perivale, an old, empty house full of noises. Evil. Things I didn’t understand. Undercurrents. 

Ghostlight picks up on a notion explored in Day of the Daleks and now almost commonplace in AG Doctor Who. But, back then, it was novel and completely intriguing. Ace had visited Gabriel Chase in 1983 and burnt it down because she detected evil – and here she was, with the Doctor, in 1943, discovering what that evil was. It’s not quite the same as Clara making herself the Impossible Girl, but the principle is consistent. Non-linear events in time having unknowing causative effect.

The notion of an unspoken long game was also, really, first toyed with in McCoy’s time. The “Mystery of Ace” plot was told over the three seasons, in tiny segments, and it was not really until Curse of Fenric that it was clear that there was a “Mystery of Ace” plot. But it was an experiment worth trying and they pulled it off well.

Curse of Fenric is also a time paradox story: Ace sets in train the events which secure her birth; The last Haemovore has travelled back in time to try to save himself;  Fenric is playing games with time (Fenric plucked Ace from her timeline and dislocated her in time and space so that the Doctor would encounter her and this confrontation could occur).  As I say, timey-wimey.

I particularly liked the idea that the chess game movements in Silver Nemesis were part of the Doctor’s longer game with Fenric. At least that made something about Silver Nemesis worthwhile!

On Wednesday 8^th of November 1989, our house was a madhouse. My older brother was getting married the following week and there was a hen’s party to be attended that night. McLeela and the girls were very excited, and even though they had to leave early and miss Doctor Who, I they were more concerned about hair, and dresses and what make-up McLeela would permit and shoes and coats and all manner of girly things. In truth, they knew the video recorder would record Doctor Who and they could watch it tomorrow – but the excitement of the first hen’s party for the two fledglings was almost volcanic. Both were going to be flower girls so, as the smallest explained to me, quite carefully, everything had to be “just so”. It was a chaotic afternoon, full of tears and tantrums and laughter and cake and silliness – the kind of afternoon that is priceless. There are many photos capturing the magic.

After the girls were packed off with their Grandmother on their mother’s side to the Hen Party of the Century, my eldest and I settled in for pizza, beer (“Don’t tell Mum!”) and the third part of Curse of Fenric. We really enjoyed it and had a great “boy’s” night. There was something about Curse of Fenric which really worked, and after Ghostlight, the Seventh Doctor and Ace were in top form and firing off each other well. There was mystery and science and death and horror – and the sense that the Doctor was a manipulative old trickster who was capable of pretty much anything in order to get his way. It was dark and edgy – despite the still questionable production values.

My eldest had just gone to bed when the police officer arrived. He was young and scared, but, ultimately, kind and thoughtful.  What is the right way to tell a 33 year old man that all the women in his home have been killed in a car accident that was not their fault? I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I remember the feeling of it. The emptiness of it.

My poor brother. His wedding had to be post-poned. But his wife-to-be was/is a trouper. She got us all through the next weeks.

I never saw Survival go out live. The irony of the title was lost on me at the time, but, in a strange way, now, looking back, it provides a kind of comfort, that title. Because it represented a further sort of compatibility or harmony that my life had shared with Doctor Who since the time of Hartnell’s regeneration.

My son made sure the episodes were taped, though, and eventually we watched Survival together. But, by then, Doctor Who was done, cancelled, never to return. Just like our girls.

So, I have never really been able to judge Survival properly. It is too entangled with the lowest time of my life. But, even despite that, I don’t think it was the lowest point of the life of BG Doctor Who. It had the lamentable Ainley cackling like a deranged barnhouse fowl but the ideas were interesting, complex and quite adult.

What Doctor Who needed then, more than a new leading man, much more, was a different Producer.  I often wonder how things would have been had McCoy had the benefit of a different team to support his Doctor, so that the visuals and acting could complement and illuminate the stories rather than detract or subvert them. On paper, both Happiness Patrol and Paradise Towers have promise; it’s the execution that defeats the possibilities. I think it’s probably the same for Survival.

And so it is that my memories of the Seventh Doctor are fonder and stronger than perhaps they, objectively speaking, should be. He was the last Doctor our little family shared together.

Perhaps, in an odd and counter-intuitive kind of way, McCoy’s finest moment came in the single outing for the 8^th Doctor: he had the grace to return to be part of it (unlike his sulky predecessor) and he was immediately engaging and compelling. He died with style and no sentiment.

Perhaps more than any other Doctor, he was an overt philosopher, really from start to finish:

“There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, and the sea’s asleep, and the rivers dream. People made of smoke, and cities made of song. Somewhere there’s danger, somewhere there’s injustice, and somewhere else the tea’s getting cold. Come on, Ace — we’ve got work to do!”