Posted by Craig in HTPBDET’s absence

Just before Christmas in 1974, I won a scholarship to a prestigious London drama school and, in my mind, made my pact with my Nanna complete. She had been gone for 2 years, but I still missed her a lot.

At the final round of auditions for the scholarship, there was this girl who had my Nanna’s name. She was slightly taller than me, with flaming red hair that cascaded down her back and tickled her thighs. She had a laugh that would dazzle and a voice that crackled with challenge and assuredness. She was Scottish. And gorgeous.

We had to do several audition scenes together, including the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet and the handbag scene between Lady Bracknell and Jack from The Importance of Being Earnest.

Playing opposite her was both the scariest acting I ever did – and the easiest. She just lit me up.

There was a reception for the scholarship winners and it was there that I found myself in heated discussion with two other lads who had also won – we were debating which of the first three Doctors was the best. Each of us had a different favourite and we were all happily sledging the other’s preferences.

Suddenly, She was there, wanting to know what we were talking about. There was that hushed silence you get when desperate lads are caught doing something they think the pretty girl who has caught them will think boring or ridiculous. But She was having none of that – she demanded to know.

So, I told her. She laughed. Loudly. Then tossed her shiny, impossibly untouchable hair and said, ever so slightly condescendingly:

Boys! Hartnell was the first and therefore the most important; Troughton was the superior actor; Pertwee had colour, the Brigadier and Sarah-Jane Smith, so he’s the best so far. Of course, the current Doctor is always the best one.

And she walked away. Laughing at us.

I knew then I had to find a way to trap her into being my wife. I just had no idea how.

But, fuelled by her assessment of Troughton, I went after her and said I thought she was right about Troughton. She smiled.

Yes. You have his sense of truth on stage – and his unpredictably.

Do I? God! Look…would you think about having tea together one day?

No.

Oh. Right.

I won’t think about it. I will have tea with you. When?

Scottish minx! I nearly slapped her very long leg…but she probably would have kicked me to death.

So, as toe-curlingly embarrassing as it is to admit, McShe (as I called her) and I had our first date on 28 December 1974, at home, in our parlour, watching Tom Baker debut as the Fourth Doctor. Classy, I know.

It was a night to remember.

I adored Tom Baker from his very first moments – fresh, vibrant, zany, brilliant, and unexpected – and as McShe noted, there was an edge to the dialogue, a crispness and precision which seemed both new and consistent. (Much later we would realise that was the hand of Robert Holmes as Script-Editor. The wit and acumen which had made his Pertwee stories shine now graced every story. The glory of Genesis of the Daleks owes much to the skill of Robert Holmes.)

It is fair to say that Tom Baker had me, entirely, at:

If the square on the hypotenuse equals the sum of the square on the other two sides, why is a mouse when it spins? Never did know the answer to that one.

And everything he did across the four episodes of Robot established him as ” the Doctor, the definite article you might say” and also showed – pretty clearly – the kinds of extremes this Fourth Doctor could and would exhibit. He tricks and befuddles Harry, enchants Sarah-Jane, is querulous, ambivalent and brooding with the Brigadier, rejects authority, takes risks, finds comedy in every moment he can and marks out his alien nature with bulging eyes, indifferent asides, navel-gazing, comic posturing and the odd sharp exchange.

For my money, Tom Baker, over his seven year tenure, always plays the same character, the same eccentric time-traveller, but he chooses to emphasise different aspects at different times. He permanently has two sides, two faces – one, beaming and bristling with humour and frantic silliness and the other, solemn, pensive, simmering – and he chooses which one to turn to the light at any given time. It’s an acting decision full of choice and power, and in the early years, Tom Baker is exceptional at altering and shifting personas to illuminate the story, make a point or stand up for something or against someone.

The simple key to the Fourth Doctor is to see him as a giant child – his alternating fits of petulance and brio make complete sense seen in this light. He throws tantrums, holds his breath, gets cross easily when denied or forced into action, alternates between energy and lethargy, wants to be the centre of attention, sometimes plays well with others, sometimes doesn’t, likes to explore and fiddle with things, can make a joke of anything but can be solemn and insightful in the next breath, talks in riddles, enjoys rough activities, watches everything, can understand big ideas, loves his pet dog, has a favourite toy, likes talking to himself and, beneath the unruly hair, has a heart of gold. And, importantly, like any child, he is influenced greatly by those closest to him. The Fourth Doctor was really a child of the Universe; the Peter Pan of the space-time vortex. An eccentric alien infant. Which is precisely why everyone loved him.

Seeing his companions through this thematic prism is also enlightening: Harry is the friend he doesn’t need but doesn’t mind; Sarah is the very best friend who will always be there for play; Leela is the friend he resents but begrudgingly plays with; K9 is the friend he treats like a dog but who always helps out; Romana 1 is the friend who might be better than him; Romana 2 is the friend who sees through him; and none of Adric, Tegan or Nyssa are really friends at all. Those seven years saw the TARDIS as a wondrous intergalactic kindergarten – a first, but one powered and fuelled by Baker’s desire to excite and inspire small children and their imaginations.

Elisabeth Sladen takes her excellent working relationship with Pertwee’s Doctor and upgrades it. Her joy at the transformation is palpable, but so is the sense of her working out a new partnership. Her scenes with Baker are always his best in the adventures they shared.

But the truly inspired notion, even though accidental, is the inclusion of the hapless Harry Sullivan as a member of the TARDIS or non-TARDIS crew of this first season:

DOCTOR: The Brigadier wants me to address the Cabinet, have lunch at Downing Street, dinner at the Palace, and write seventeen reports in triplicate. Well, I won’t do it. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. Why should I?
SARAH: Doctor, you’re being childish.
DOCTOR: Well of course I am. There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes. Are you coming?
HARRY: Hello. Well, what are you two up to now, eh?
DOCTOR: We’re just going on a little trip. Would you like a jelly baby?
HARRY: Little trip? What, in that old police box?
DOCTOR: Yes, as a matter of fact, in that old police box.
HARRY: Oh, come along now, Doctor. We’re both reasonable men. Now, we both know that police boxes don’t go careering around all over the place.
DOCTOR: Do we?
HARRY: Of course we do. The whole idea’s absurd.
DOCTOR: Is it? You wouldn’t like to step inside a moment? Just to demonstrate that it is all an illusion.
HARRY: Well, if you think it’ll do any good.
DOCTOR: Oh, yes, it’ll make me feel a lot better.
SARAH: Doctor.
DOCTOR: In you go.
HARRY: Right-o. ..Oh, I say!

Ian Marter is a flummoxed delight and his counter-point to the fearless Sarah-Jane helps set up the excessive range of the Fourth Doctor and give him time to find exactly how and what he wants to do. I was very sad when Harry left – but then I like a crew of three and usually enjoy the possibilities it offers.

One could be forgiven for thinking that the Production team were taking no chances with this new Doctor – three recurring villains in a row. Whatever the motivation, it was an inspired idea – because it got the Daleks and the Cybermen off the menu, established the Sontarans as part of the “family of foes” and let the new team choose their own direction, their own foes. The gap between Revenge of the Cybermen and Invasion of Time is the longest in the history of the programme to be recurring monsters free (leaving aside the Master’s turn in Deadly Assassin) and that alone helps define the era of the Fourth Doctor.

Ark in Space was fine, but I never saw what the fuss was about. It always seemed to me a run-of-the-mill story and apart from the wonderful speech from the Doctor about humans being indomitable and the moment he manipulates Sarah so that she can squeeze out of the shaft, it did not particularly excite. Nor did Sontaran Experiment, an especially idiotic filler.

No, it took three whole stories before the ante was upped – none of the previous three Doctors had had to wait so long for a cracking good yarn. But then neither had any of the previous Doctors had so much attention paid to the establishment of the personality of the Doctor and the types of stories he would have – for, essentially, the templates for all of Baker’s adventures are set in this first season : the megalomaniac wanting dominion over others, the alien invasion of a human base, the Time Lord mission, the experimentation on humanoids, conquest by infiltration/assimilation and the reimagining of a classic tale from film or literature as the basis for an intergalactic romp. This foreshadowing and stake-claiming pays off – because the, relatively speaking, mundane adventures can focus on the Doctor, establish him and allow greater risk-taking, more extremes, in the future.

Genesis of the Daleks was a brilliant story, beautifully told. The idea of Davros and the Frankenstein theme worked perfectly with the Nazi notions which had permeated so many of the early Dalek stories. Quite how it worked continuity wise was another question, although, really, it is not until Davros returns in Destiny of the Daleks that the serious continuity issues arise. (And even then they are not insurmountable!) Michael Wisher’s turn as Davros is one of the greatest guest star turns in the history of Doctor Who. I still get chills and recall the chills I first felt, holding McShe’s hand, when I hear these words:

Perfect. The weaponry is perfect. Now, we can begin.

Revenge of the Cybermen is a much maligned story – and wrongly so in my view. That gold was inimical to the Cybermen was no more or less idiotic than any other aspect of their existence – and there was a part of me that quite liked the ultimate consumer item being the perfect foil for emotionless beings. It was just fun to see them again. And Sladen made the Cybermat’s attack on her genuinely scary. (McShe screamed – to my delight!)

What is often overlooked about this season is the Nerva Beacon arc – nothing like that had ever been tried before – and it worked very well. Four stories linked around one space station – and no TARDIS. At the time I thought, well, if they can do without the TARDIS what else can they do without? There was the impossibly flexible format being stretched again.

Terror of the Zygons, though, marks a true turning point. The Zygons were the first in a long line of Fourth Doctor villains who could so easily have returned – but didn’t. I liked everything about them and, of course, the Scottish setting made McShe very happy, especially when identifying the “Dodgy Accents of Doom”.

It is also here that the abrupt ending for a companion of the Fourth Doctor begins. Harry’s departure was unexpected and, to me, incomprehensible, because Marter was excellent. But, it has a clear purpose – this Doctor is not sentimental and never will be. Indeed, all of his companions will abruptly depart, one way or another.

At the same time, Harry had run his course, served his purpose. The chemistry between Baker and Sladen was remarkable – the programme had seen nothing like it since Fraser Hines and Troughton were in the TARDIS. The warmth, sincerity and sense of joy that Sladen brings to her every scene with Baker allows him to fully spread his wings; the audience is anchored by Sarah-Jane Smith so the Doctor can be as alien as he chooses:

SARAH: Hey, Doctor. Doctor, look what I’ve found.
DOCTOR: Hello, Vicky.
SARAH: What?
DOCTOR: Hmm? Where did you get that dress?
SARAH: I just told you. I found it back there in the wardrobe. Why, don’t you like it?
DOCTOR: Yes. Yes, I always did. Victoria wore it. She travelled with me for a time.
SARAH: Well, as long as Albert didn’t wear it. Oh, come on, Doctor. That’s worth a smile, surely? What’s the matter? You should be glad to be going home.
DOCTOR: The Earth isn’t my home, Sarah. I’m a Time Lord.
SARAH: I know you’re a Time Lord.
DOCTOR: You don’t understand the implications. I’m not a human being. I walk in eternity.
SARAH: What’s that supposed to mean?
DOCTOR: It means I’ve lived for something like seven hundred and fifty years.
SARAH: Oh, you’ll soon be middle aged.
DOCTOR: Yes! About time I found something better to do than run around after the Brigadier.
SARAH: Oh, come on. If you’re tired of being UNIT’s scientific advisor, you can always resign…What was it?
DOCTOR: The relative continuum stabiliser failed.
SARAH: No, not that. I mean the thing.
DOCTOR: What thing?
SARAH: There was a terrible face just for a second, then it was gone. You don’t believe me, do you.
DOCTOR: Nothing can enter the Tardis. Unless
SARAH: Unless what?
DOCTOR: Mental projection of that force is beyond imagination, yet it might explain the stabiliser failure. Let’s see. Was it at this end of the spectrum?
SARAH: No, Doctor, don’t! Whatever it was, I know it was totally malevolent.

Additionally, the possibility that harm could come to Sarah is ever present and she suffers a lot – thus providing some remarkable moments of horror: the end of part two of Pyramids of Mars when the Mummies try to kill her; awakening from her temporary blindness in Brain of Morbius to confront the reality of Morbius; the terrifying moment when she is strapped to a chair in Seeds of Doom, helpless as the Krynoid pod starts to break open, ready to infect her.

Aided and abetted by Sladen, Baker took control of the TARDIS with both hands, gleefully, and full bloodedly. The Hinchcliffe/Holmes years were just marvellous:

DOCTOR: The process is almost complete.
MOBERLEY: We can do nothing except just watch it happen.
DOCTOR: There is something you can do, but it’s drastic.
STEVENSON: Well, what?
DOCTOR: Amputate the arm.
MOBERLEY: What good would that do? Can’t you see the infection’s all over his body?
DOCTOR: Yes, but the arm’s the source of the infection. It might stop it spreading.
MOBERLEY: You say might. What you mean is, you don’t know.
DOCTOR: Well of course I don’t know! But it’d give you a breathing space while you try and find an antidote. That’s a chance worth taking, isn’t it?
MOBERLEY: And who’s going to perform this operation?
DOCTOR: Oh you are, Moberley. You’re the only one who can.
MOBERLEY: But I’m not a surgeon. What about you? You’re a doctor.
DOCTOR: You must help yourselves.
SARAH: He’s not a doctor of medicine. Stevenson’s a botanist, you’re a zoologist. Ask yourself who’s most qualified among us.
MOBERLEY: But I can’t operate on Winlett. It’s absurd!
SARAH: Oh, at least you could try. You studied physiology, you know how to handle a scalpel.
MOBERLEY: To dissect dead specimens, yes, but Charles is a human being.
SARAH: He won’t be much longer if you don’t operate! Look, have you got a medical kit?
STEVENSON: We’ve a full medical kit in the lab.
SARAH: Well? Well, what about it? You’re his last chance.
STEVENSON: Derek, we’ll help you in every way we can.
MOBERLEY: I’ll do my best.
DOCTOR: You’re a good man, Moberley. Come on, let’s get started.
SARAH: Right.
DOCTOR: Hot towels.

Life at Drama school was eventful and challenging. Moving out, living with five fellow students in a house-share that would have made the Young Ones feel proud, working in box offices and theatres at night and finding as much time as possible for McShe was quite a challenge – but like all worthy challenges, eventful and fulfilling.

McShe and I always made sure we watched the first and final episodes of any adventure together. For both of us, the programme had returned to its traditional territory – exhilarating adventures anywhere and anytime. Even a dud story, like Android Invasion, was worth it for the Doctor and Sarah. Neither of us had found the programme this intoxicating, this joyful, since that final Troughton/Jamie/Zoe year.

There are not that many firsts in Tom Baker’s tenure but there is at least one significant one: the concept of an aborted time-line starts to be explored in Pyramids of Mars:

LAURENCE: Great heavens! This is unbelievable. Totally unbelievable!
DOCTOR: You’re going to say it transcends all the normal laws of physics.
LAURENCE: I am, yes. I mean, it does. It’s preposterous!
DOCTOR: Isn’t it. I often think dimensional transcendentalism is preposterous, but it works. Would you like to look around?
LAURENCE: May I?
DOCTOR: Please.
SARAH: Well now we are here, why don’t you tune up 1980 and we can, well, leave.
DOCTOR: I can’t.
SARAH: Ah. Why can’t you?
DOCTOR: Because if Sutekh isn’t stopped, he’ll destroy the world.
SARAH: But he didn’t, did he. I mean, we know the world didn’t end in 1911.
DOCTOR: Do we?
SARAH: Yes, of course we do!
DOCTOR: All right. If we leave now, let’s see what the world will look like in 1980.
LAURENCE: I say, this is like something by that novelist chap, Mister Wells.
DOCTOR: 1980, Sarah, if you want to get off.
SARAH: It’s a trick!
DOCTOR: No. That’s the world as Sutekh would leave it. A desolate planet circling a dead sun.
SARAH: It can’t be! I’m from 1980.
DOCTOR: Every point in time has its alternative, Sarah. You’ve looked into alternative time.
LAURENCE: Fascinating. Do you mean the future can be chosen, Doctor?
DOCTOR: Not chosen, shaped. The actions of the present fashion the future.
LAURENCE: So a man can change the course of history?
DOCTOR: To a small extent. It takes a being of Sutekh’s almost limitless power to destroy the future. Well?
SARAH: We’ve got to go back.
DOCTOR: Yes.

And cue timey-wimey possibilities!

It is difficult now to properly express the particular wonder of that Thirteenth Season – it was darker than Doctor Who had ever tried deliberately to be, the horror more visceral, the humour more subtle, the interaction between Doctor and female companion unrivalled, the dialogue crackling with energy. All of this seems commonplace now, but back then…

SARAH: Well, come on, make your mind up. Has the Tardis brought us home or not?
DOCTOR: Possibly.
SARAH: What do you mean, possibly.
DOCTOR: Well, the coordinates were set for your time, but the linear calculator, well. Ginger pop?
SARAH: Can’t stand the stuff, thanks all the same. So we could be anytime, anywhere?
DOCTOR: I really must get the Tardis seen to. She’s way overdue her five hundred year service.
SARAH: Well, at least we’re on Earth. I mean, just taste that air. I love that fresh smell just after a rain shower.
DOCTOR: Yes, it does have that peculiar earthy smell. Which is odd when you look at the ground.
SARAH: Hmm?
DOCTOR: It’s bone dry. Can’t have been any rain here for more than a week.
DOCTOR: Now I wonder what could be causing that.
SARAH: What?
DOCTOR: Some enormous release of energy.
SARAH: We are on Earth, aren’t we?
DOCTOR: Well, unless someone’s started exporting acorns. Oak trees don’t grow anywhere else in the Galaxy.
SARAH: Bet we’re miles away from UNIT HQ though. So, what are we going to do?
DOCTOR: Eenie, meenie, minie, mo?
DOCTOR: Watch the bramble.
SARAH: Ow.
DOCTOR: I told you to watch the bramble.
SARAH: Listen, what’s so special about eenie meenie minie mo?
DOCTOR: Nothing. It could just as easily have be fum fo fee fi.
SARAH: Fee fi fo fum.

Although there was much wonderful stuff to come, that run of stories from Genesis of the Daleks to Hand of Fear still seems to me to be the crème de la crème of the era of the Fourth Doctor. Perhaps because it was the time I knew I was completely and utterly in love with McShe – and maybe it was just great acting and story-telling, the absence of recurring foes heightening the pleasure by prolonging the thrill of their eventual appearance. (I spent seven years waiting for an Ice Warrior story…)

At the time, everyone I knew seemed angry at Tom Baker for Sarah’s departure, considering that he had treated her too harshly:

DOCTOR: The call. The call from Gallifrey. Gallifrey. After all this time, Gallifrey. I can’t take Sarah to Gallifrey. Must get her back home. Must reset the coordinates. South Croydon.
SARAH: Ahem!
DOCTOR: You’re a good girl, Sarah.
SARAH: Oh, look, it’s too late apologising now. Everything’s packed. I’ve got to go.
DOCTOR: What? How did you know?
SARAH: What?
DOCTOR: I’ve had the call from Gallifrey.
SARAH: So?
DOCTOR: So I can’t take you with me. You’ve got to go.
SARAH: Oh, come on. I can’t miss Gallifrey. Look, I was only joking. I didn’t mean it. Hey. Hey, you’re not going to regenerate again, are you?
DOCTOR: Not this time. I don’t know what’s going to happen.
SARAH: You’re playing one of your jokes on me, just trying to make me stay.
DOCTOR: No. I’ve received the call, and as a Time Lord I must obey.
SARAH: Alone?
DOCTOR: Yes.
SARAH: …And I’ll give your love to Harry and the Brigadier. Oh, and I can tell Professor Watson that you’re all right.
DOCTOR: We’ve landed, Sarah.
SARAH: What?
DOCTOR: We’ve landed.
SARAH: Where?
DOCTOR: South Croydon. Hillview Road, to be exact.
SARAH: That’s my home. Well, I’ll be off then. Here.
DOCTOR: Thanks.
SARAH: Don’t forget me.
DOCTOR: Oh, Sarah. Don’t you forget me.
SARAH: Bye, Doctor. You know, travel does broaden the mind.
DOCTOR: Yes. Till we meet again, Sarah.

I always thought of it as the scene that succinctly demonstrated the duality in the character of the Fourth Doctor and showed both actors in perfect form. Sladen is heart-breaking, bewildered but accepting. And then she is funny. I still can’t watch her walking down that suburban street without crying and laughing. Baker is aloof, pretending not to care while internally anguished and slyly flippant. His delivery of “Don’t you forget me” is staggeringly good. And I don’t think any other companion was given the hope that “Til we meet again” brings except Susan – it is a telling and important declaration; a salute to the greatest Doctor Who companion ever.

It is also an extraordinary example of how to be subtle about keeping continuity. Although nothing is expressly stated, what is going on here is quite plain – the pain in Baker’s face as he runs his fingers through his unruly hair shows that he knows of the danger that the call from Gallifrey represents. And the long-term audience also knows. Because of War Games.

Baker knows that if he does not respond the Time Lords will come and take him. And if that happens, there is every likelihood that they will return Sarah to her time zone just after Time Warrior and wipe her memories of her travels with him. He does not want to risk that and there is no time to explain, because the longer he takes the more chance they will simply pluck the TARDIS from the vortex and whisk them to Gallifrey. He knows she will want to take the risk, but he won’t chance it.

It’s marvellous, complicated and utterly consistent – both with the Doctor’s past experiences and the Doctor’s current incarnation. And not a single word is devoted to it. It is all in the playing – including the extraordinary moment when Sladen realises that she really does have to go. Baker’s “Don’t you forget me” has a resonant significance which is easy to miss such is the overwhelming sadness of the scene. It is deft playing and remarkable writing – and there has never been a farewell scene to equal it.

Losing Sarah changes Baker subtly – you see him slightly diminished in both Deadly Assassin and Face of Evil. Tom Baker was widely reported as thinking he did not need a companion – but he was wrong about that. Completely. The Fourth Doctor is at his best in company.

This is partly why Deadly Assassin is an odd story. The Doctor is at sea. He has no real friends on Gallifrey and the society and life there he utterly rejected when he began his travels. He is mourning Sarah in a place he despises, but he will not give up. Having the Master return here for a final showdown was a masterstroke (excuse pun) on Holmes’ part. It gave closure to a character created by Holmes and so wonderfully enlivened by Roger Delgado. In truth, I wish we had never seen the Master again.

Holding hands with McShe, we both braced ourselves for the first part of Face of Evil because Sarah-Jane’s replacement was about to arrive. We were determined to hate her, considering starting petitions to bring Sladen back.

And then Louise Jameson leapt into our lives, in that glorious costume, killing with gay abandon and challenging the Doctor in ways Sarah-Jane Smith never could, never would. You can almost feel Baker’s contempt for her as you watch but Jameson was, to evoke Ark in Space, indomitable. It wasn’t a case of “Sarah-Jane who?” but it was a case of “Wow! New fabulous companion”.

Everything Jameson does is glorious, from her ease at being native, to her casual murderous nature, her questioning and incomprehension, her child-like acceptance and her growing fierce protection of the Doctor. She is like a gangster female Jamie – and although Baker never treats her like an equal, she more than held her own with him and often outshone him.

In the trio of stories which followed, Robots of Death, Talons of Weng-Chiang and Horror of Fang Rock, Leela reigns supreme:

LEELA: I didn’t kill him. Ask this thing.
UVANOV: You’ll have to do better than that. Who are you?
LEELA: Leela. Who are you?
UVANOV: Why did you kill him?
LEELA: You try that again and I’ll cripple you.
UVANOV: Why did you kill him?
LEELA: I didn’t! Tell him.
UVANOV: That is a single function labour robot, D class. D for dumb. It can’t speak.
LEELA: Has anyone told him that?
UVANOV: You have cost me and company a great deal of money and you have killed three people. Can you think of any good reason why I should not have you executed on the spot?
LEELA: No, but you can, otherwise you’d have done it.
UVANOV: Now don’t get clever with me.

And

DOCTOR: Ah! Eureka! Do you know what that is?
LEELA: You ask me so that you can tell me.
DOCTOR: That’s right. It’s a trionic lattice, an integral part of a time cabinet. It’s impossible to open it without it.
LEELA: You mean it’s a key.
DOCTOR: Yes. He’s not only a scientific fool, he’s an absent-minded one.
LEELA: Perhaps he has another eureka.
DOCTOR: No, Eureka’s Greek for this bath is too hot. There can never be another one of this combination.
LEELA: That means he’s gone to the theatre. Come on.
DOCTOR: Hold it.
LEELA: But Doctor, Professor Litefoot and Mister Jago are our friends! We must help them. You know what will happen if Weng-Chiang finds them.
DOCTOR: I do.
LEELA: Well?
DOCTOR: Look. Litefoot likes a good fire. He’s been out of the house a long time. We can’t go just rushing all over London looking for him. It’s much better to wait for Weng-Chiang to come here.
LEELA: Look, we know he already has the cabinet.
DOCTOR: Yes, but he doesn’t have the key. Always stay one step ahead of your enemies, my girl.
LEELA: You mean, when he finds the key is missing, and that Professor Litefoot and Mister Jago are keeping watch, he will force them to tell him where it is.
DOCTOR: You’re learning to think. That’s excellent.
LEELA: And you thought of that all at once, Doctor?
DOCTOR: Well, almost.
LEELA: Then I am sorry.
DOCTOR: What for?
LEELA: For thinking that perhaps you were afraid.
DOCTOR: That’s all right.
LEELA: Where shall we lay our ambush?
DOCTOR: What?
LEELA: Ambush! It’s time we did battle with this underground crab, Doctor.

and

LEELA: They are hard to kill, these Rutans.
DOCTOR: Been celebrating, have you?
LEELA: It is fitting to celebrate the death of an enemy.
DOCTOR: Not in my opinion. I haven’t got time to discuss morality. Look out there.
(Another red ball blazes across the sky then hovers over the sea.)
LEELA: Is that the Rutan mother ship?
DOCTOR: It is. When it gets within range, this will lock onto its carbon resonator and knock out its anti-grav, I hope. We’ve got about a hundred and seventeen seconds to get out of here. Understand?
LEELA: Perfectly.
DOCTOR: Good. So when I switch on, you run for it, all right?
LEELA: Yes.

Between seasons fourteen and fifteen, McShe turned 21 and we both graduated with honours and prospects from drama school. She wanted a fancy dress party for the big celebration and she demanded that all attendees did not disclose their costumes to her or each other – she loved surprises and wanted them in spades. She also wanted the costumes to somehow relate to the guest’s personal history with her.

Predictably, perhaps, I went as the Troughton Doctor. There were a lot of Doctor Who costumes, plus many Shakespearean ones (as McShe had spent a lot of her degree focussing on Shakespeare and our friends had been in many scenes from his plays with her). It was a grand night – but McShe was not there when the party started. Nor was she there an hour later.

Finally, she arrived. And it was quite an entrance – in full Leela regalia she pounced into the room, knife drawn and Janis thorn at the ready. My mother actually screamed. She silenced a room of seventy people and stood there, radiant, flaming, wonderful.

Then she came over to me, knelt down and asked me to marry her.

Not being a complete fool, I said yes. And the 21st became an engagement party – and, quite possibly, the happiest day of my life.

I called her McLeela from then on, and years later, when our children were tots, we would send them to sleep with stories of the unknown adventures of the Second Doctor and Leela (all of which, remarkably, usually centred around a prince or princess of an alien world who bore some similarity to the listening wide-eyed infant). She was my Scottish warrior princess and everyone knew it.

I always felt a debt to Troughton – because it was discussing him which first got us together. His Doctor was the gift that kept on giving.

Invisible Enemy brought K9 into our lives. I quite liked the idea of K9 and the rapport with Leela and K9 was delicious:

LEELA: K9, can you tell me how long he’ll be?
K9: Negative. Prognostication impossible in matters concerning Doctor.
LEELA: Prog what?
K9: I cannot tell.
LEELA: Can you tell me where we’ve landed?
K9: Affirmative.
LEELA: Well?
K9: Materialisation took place on alien spacecraft.
LEELA: Why wouldn’t the Doctor let me go with him?
K9: I do not know. Prognostication impossible
BOTH: In matters concerning. I know, I know. Well, he may need my help. I’m going to take a look.
K9: Do not touch the scanner control, mistress.
LEELA: Oh, I know the Doctor said we weren’t supposed to, but wouldn’t you like to see where he is? Who he’s talking to?
K9: Negative. Wishing for such things is emotion. I am not programmed
LEELA: Oh, shut up. You’re no help at all… What’s wrong? Why won’t it work?… K9? K9, what’s…? K9, sulking is also an emotional thing. If you cannot wish, you cannot sulk…. K9! …K9, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you.
K9: Apologies are not necessary.
LEELA: No, no, no, of course they’re not. Now, can you tell me, please, why this scanner will not work?
K9: The Doctor immobilised the mechanism before he left in order to prevent you switching it on.
LEELA: You mean he doesn’t trust me? What is he doing out there?

John Leeson did wonders, making you identify with the robotic dog as a real creature and although K9 quickly outlived his usefulness, it was one of those madcap ideas that truly worked – in the beginning.

Image of the Fendahl and Sunmakers are excellent examples of the format being stretched and challenged. Underworld is not much chop, but those first four episodes of Invasion of Time are astonishingly good – and the reveal of the Sontarans as the real threat is that rare thing – a complete surprise.

Unfortunately, the Sontarans themselves are also surprising, but not in a happy way. Kevin Lindsay had died and the new outfits and actors were not in his league. Four years into Tom Baker’s reign, this was the first returning foe since that first season (the Master aside) and it was a disaster. A great pity and a wasted opportunity. I have never understood why it was not the Daleks who invaded – it would have been a much better idea.

And then, to make matters worse, Leela suddenly departs to marry the gormless idiot Andred. McShe and I were furious – Leela deserved to stay longer or to die honourably – she did not deserve to be sentenced to death by boredom as Mrs Andred. I always felt that Louise Jameson was betrayed by the production team – she had done the impossible, she had successfully followed Elisabeth Sladen – but she was given an ignominious ending. This is the great tragedy of Tom Baker’s tenure.

McShe and I got married the following year – during the Key to Time season. To the horror of both sets of parents, we both skipped away from the reception to watch Stones of Blood Part Two. Cake and speeches did not seem as important as Doctor Who.

The Key to Time season was an ambitious and thrilling ride. It really shook up the complacency about what the programme did. Suddenly, there were greater forces than the Timelords in the Universe and the adventures were about solving a mystery. There was an over-arching theme, but the adventures were self-contained and quite remarkable.

Then there was Romanadvoratrelundar or Fred. Wow! Again. Another remarkable companion for this remarkable Doctor. Mary Tamm was delicious, so grand, smart, snobbish, sure of herself and radiant and her condescension to the Doctor was giddy making – no one, except perhaps the Master, had ever spoken to the Doctor that way.

DOCTOR: What’s this?
ROMANA: According to my instructions, it’s the core to the Key of Time.
DOCTOR: Ah.
ROMANA: Very exciting, isn’t it?
DOCTOR: Yes, I suppose it must be for someone as young and inexperienced as you are.
ROMANA: I may be inexperienced, but I did graduate from the Academy with a triple first.
DOCTOR: I suppose you think we should be impressed by that, too?
ROMANA: Well, it’s better than scraping through with fifty one percent at the second attempt.
DOCTOR: That information is confidential! That President. I should have thrown him to the Sontarans when I had the chance.
ROMANA: Oh, do you want to know how that works?
DOCTOR: I know how it works.
ROMANA: You have to plug it into your Tardis controls, just there.
(There’s a new socket available to receive it.)
DOCTOR: A hole. What’s a hole doing in my Tardis?
ROMANA: I put it there.
DOCTOR: You? You put a hole in my T? Never mind, old girl. Never mind. I’ll soon have it fixed.
ROMANA: When plugged into the control console, the core indicates the space-time coordinates of each segment of the Key.
(The Doctor puts the rod into the hole.)
DOCTOR: Oh, that’s clever. That’s very clever. Ah! Four one eight zero.
ROMANA: I’ll look up those coordinates, shall I.
DOCTOR: No, there’s no need.
ROMANA: Well, don’t you want to know what planet it is?
DOCTOR: I know. Sirenus Minima.
ROMANA: Oh.
DOCTOR: Just a matter of experience, you see.

It was an inspired idea, a complete contrast to Leela and another perfect companion.

Perhaps it was because the wedding was close, perhaps it was because I was finishing a run in my first West End show, perhaps it was because I was making my first film – whatever, those first four stories in the Key to Time season seemed magical, inspired and utterly captivating. Ribos Operation is classic Holmes and full of joy; Pirate Planet brought Douglas Adams to the programme and a delicious turn from Bruce Purchase; Stones of Blood was as creepy and scary as anything in season thirteen ( adored Amelia Rumford ) and then turned itself into farcical legal joust ( a hybrid programme, really unique in the history of the programme ) and Androids of Tara was a solid , traditional film-based adventure. Power of Kroll is let down by bad casting and special effects, which is a pity, because Holmes’ story is quite exciting on paper.

Mary Tamm is terrific in all of them and you can almost feel Baker resenting how good she is. K9 still works, though not as effortlessly as when he started and there is a tendency to use him as the solution rather than a character.

Armageddon Factor, the end of the Key to Time arc, is both witty and charming and something of a let down. Having a whole year devoted to an eventual show-down between the forces of good and evil seemed to promise to deliver more than could ever be delivered. But it was a journey worth the sights along the way.

Abrupt departure of companion number four happens off-stage and I freely confess to hating Lalla Ward at the start because she had so capriciously replaced Mary Tamm. Tamm had delivered in every way and deserved a proper farewell – if she was going, it should have been easy enough to force her regeneration by the events that concluded Armageddon Factor. And it was disgraceful that such a fine actress should be treated that way. Not since poor Liz Shaw had a companion, or, indeed, the audience, been so wretchedly treated by the Production team.

It always amuses me when people bang on about the “need” for the Doctor to become a woman as if the programme had always totally eschewed the notion. Romana, in both incarnations, demonstrates precisely what one could expect from a female Doctor – indeed, Lalla Ward starts her time with a copy of the Doctor’s outfit, as if to emphasise the point that she is the “she-Dr”.

The Seventeenth Season is much derided – and rightly so. The pendulum swing away from gothic horror to space pantomime is, to say the least, unfortunate. It’s not that the stories are that bad, it’s the execution of them that is dire. City of Death is usually proclaimed the best of the season, but that does not really say much. The script is clever, witty and plays nicely with time. But only Julian Glover seems to really take proceedings seriously. Kerensky and Duggan could have been memorable characters for the right reasons – but, instead, they are silly cardboard caricatures, memorable because they so wasted their opportunities.

For me, this season is the lowest point of BG Doctor Who (Colin Baker’s era aside). Tom Baker just seems to be having fun with Lalla Ward, and there is no sense of occasion or depth to anything that happens. When people ask me how I can prefer Troughton over Tom Baker, the easiest answer is that Tom Baker stayed too long and the Seventeenth Season diminishes him. I often wonder about the missed opportunities: if Baker and Tamm had gone together at the end of the Key to Time arc, there could have been a season double-regeneration cliff-hanger.

Perhaps I was distracted – because McLeela gave birth to our first fledgling during the run of Nightmare on Eden and, hopefully understandably, my attention was elsewhere. I still think that script is the best of that season, but Lewis Fiander and the ghastly design for the Mandrells sap it of all power. It’s such a pity.

I have nothing good to say about Horns of Nimon, so in the best Thumper tradition will simply note that, in my view, if Shada had been made and broadcast, it, rather than Horns of Nimon, would have been my least favoured show that season.

It’s true that infants in the womb listen to what happens outside the protective shell of their mother – because our eldest always reacted positively whenever he heard the title music for Doctor Who. By that I mean he always went to sleep when he heard it – without fail, til he was about 18 months, he would just nod off when it started, remembering, presumably, the safety, warmth and security of his time under his mother’s protection and associating the sounds with that time. Video-recorders, therefore, were a special blessing at midnight-feed time!

Time passed and the retirement of Tom Baker from the role was announced and there was much press devoted to the new Producer, John Nathan Turner. This seemed odd to McLeela and I and it is at this point that I can remember thinking, quite firmly and consciously, two things: “Why is the Producer more important than the stars?” and “I am afraid I don’t agree”.

The first would become something of a defining mantra over the next three Doctors’ eras and, to be honest, extends into AG Doctor Who.

The second was a response to the universal (seemingly) adoration for the 18th season. To me, Troughton summed up my view in Three Doctors:

You’ve been redecorating I see…I don’t like it.

There is a kind of JNT “look and feel” to the Eighteenth Season which delineates it from any other of Tom Baker’s seasons. Rather than the series shifting from story to story, there is an over-riding sensibility which some describe as “refreshing” but which to me just seemed bland.

Neither Leisure Hive nor Meglos did anything to inspire me, and there is a sense of finality, of uncaring disinterest in Tom Baker’s performances. It is Lalla Ward, really, who keeps the enthusiasm going, and I much prefer her more no-nonsense approach to the role of Romana in her second year.

But the real differences were in the approach of the production team. More care was taken with tone and the concept of style for the programme. And that was good, great even – but was it more important than the comfort of the star about what was happening?

Whatever, there is a marked change when Full Circle comes around and Baker returns to his familiar excellent form for the E-Space trilogy and the wonderful Keeper of Traken. You can almost see him deciding to go out with all guns blazing.

I have never read anything to suggest it was deliberate, but I especially liked the way the E-Space trilogy book-ended the Tom Baker era which, in its first season, had featured the Nerva Beacon quartet. I also liked the way his final season featured no returning monsters (apart from the Master) and, in that way, it was truer to his era as a whole.

That final season provides a tip-toe through the various approaches during the Fourth Doctor’s time: Leisure Hive could have been a story from the 16th season; Meglos from the 17th; Full Circle from the 12th; State of Decay from the 13th; Warrior’s Gate from the 15th; Keeper of Traken from the 14th – it is only really Logopolis which is the 18th season story, and, at the same time, the marker for the future.

The final abrupt departure of a companion happens at the conclusion of Warrior’s Gate and is as incomprehensible as, but consistent with, all the others:

DOCTOR: We’ve made it. Quick, quick, inside. What’s the matter?
ROMANA: I’m not coming with you.
DOCTOR: Inside. That’s an order.
ROMANA: No more orders, Doctor. Goodbye.
DOCTOR: What? What a moment to choose.
ROMANA: But it is, isn’t it? A moment to choose. I’ve got to be my own Romana.
BIROC: And we need a Time Lord.
ROMANA: Goodbye, Doctor.
DOCTOR: No, no, no. Wait, wait. There’s something else. K9. He’ll be all right with you behind the mirrors.
ROMANA: I’ll take care of him.
DOCTOR: I’ll miss you. You were the noblest Romana of them all.

It is the first time in the programme’s history that the Doctor has expressed a preference for one companion over another. An odious development – but the precursor to the sort of rubbish Colin Baker would sprout about Peter Davison in his first scenes as the Sixth Doctor. There was no need for Mary Tamm’s Romana to be compared with Lalla Ward’s by the Doctor, particularly given the back-stage reality. It was cheap.

Our second fledgling, a beautiful mini-McLeela, came bursting into the world during the last week of Keeper of Traken which may be the reason for my particular fondness for that story. But I think, actually, it is just the last great Tom Baker story and it has the particular twist of the Master stealing Tremas’ body. So – it promised a lot.

So much changed over the course of those final five Tom Baker stories. Adric and his waddling, irritating, mewling, pouting persona became the first male companion since Harry Sullivan; Tegan burst onto the scene with an accent as ludicrous as her costume and as irritating as her personality (to be fair, it is clear that Tom Baker despised her, but she was not alone in that, but she was alone in letting it show); Nyssa wafted into the TARDIS crew without proper explanation but with an interesting backstory; and there was a new Master who appeared to have been told that the best way to approach the role was to think of it as King Rat from Dick Whittington.

I never cared for Logopolis and thought Tom Baker got an incredibly rough deal for a final story. No one will ever convince me that the concept of the “Watcher” was stolen from Planet of the Spiders but upgraded by JNT. Cho Je was a projection of K’anpo Rimpoche’s future self, just as the Watcher was said to be a projection of the Doctor’s future self; and their forms coalesced upon regeneration. But there is more to it than that, of course – JNT is telling Tom Baker that what he is doing in his final programme is being “watched”. I found it a cynical, divisive and unoriginal device – unfairly used against an actor who may have stayed too long but who was, for a generation, “the” Doctor. But it was definitely a signpost for the future.

Tom Baker’s final story is as different from any other story he appears in as it is different from the finales of the earlier Doctors. Logopolis was not a celebration of the Fourth Doctor’s time, nor was it an epic adventure such as War Games and nor did it introduce a new signature foe. It was a story about the end of chaos, the issues with entropy and the need for change; its raison d’etre was to push Tom Baker away, reprimand him. Funereal and foreboding, it was a sad and unfitting finale for a great Doctor.

McShe and I were very sad when he regenerated – not because we were not ready for him to go, we were, but because of the way he was treated. Not content with the story being a metaphor for what JNT thought about Tom Baker, for the first time, the regeneration was not just about him. That swirling band of former companions’ faces, the ludicrous nostalgia moment – it was unnecessary and unfair. Why couldn’t he just have had a proper final scene – where his regeneration was caused by something more cataclysmic or brave than falling from a Telescope and where the writing for his final moments was meaningful in the terms of his portrayal?

When I think back to the Fourth Doctor, my first thought is always of this scene from Robots of Death:

DOCTOR: Professional interest or morbid curiosity? Which? There are three types of robots aboard this mine. Dumbs, Vocs, a Super Voc, and then there’s you. Would you care to explain that? I see. Well then, perhaps I’d better tell SV7 you can talk.
D84: Please do not.
DOCTOR: That’s better. Well?
D84: I cannot explain.
DOCTOR: Oh, but you can. You can…You’re a robot detective. What does your computer mind make of this?
D84: Strength is indicated, but not beyond human capacity.
DOCTOR: Typical robot. No imagination.
D84: I require, I require evidence. Your suspicions are not evidence, nor are lunatic threats of a robot revolution.
DOCTOR: The Company took those threatening letters seriously. Seriously enough to put you on board.
D84: A simple precaution. Those letters were signed by Taren Capel.
DOCTOR: Taren Capel.
D84: Before he disappeared, he was an important scientist.
DOCTOR: Taren Capel. Scientist. In what field? Robotics.
D84: Correct.
DOCTOR: And you’re still looking for evidence?
D84: If I was to tell you the world would end tomorrow, would you merely accept my word?
DOCTOR: If I knew you had the power to, I’d listen. What does Taren Capel look like?
D84: There are no records. From childhood, he lived with only robots.
DOCTOR: Oh, that’s dim. Even for a Dumb, that’s dim. You realise he’s almost certainly on board.
D84: No. I have checked extensively. There are only the crew, and you.
DOCTOR: But you don’t know what he looks like.
D84: But I know what they look like.
DOCTOR: Before they came on board?
D84: I had overlooked the possibility of substitution.
DOCTOR: Yes, you had.
D84: I have failed.
DOCTOR: Yes. Oh, come on. Don’t be upset. Yes, you failed, you failed, but congratulations. Failure’s one of the basic freedoms. Listen. Do you think that looks a likely place?
D84: Likely for what?
DOCTOR: Well, if Taren Capel is on board, he’d have a workshop, and we must find it before it’s too late. Would you like to come with me?
D84: Yes, please.
DOCTOR: Good. Come on then.

Its classic Tom Baker – serious and joyful at once. Beautifully played.

Indomitable.