How Doctor Who became a thing of the past – but was then spectacularly reborn for the 21st century. Plus, meeting legends Waris Hussein, Nicholas Courtney, William Russell, Anneke Wills and Katy Manning.
“The Doctor should be so fascinating, he’s radioactive. He’s funny, clever, wild and fast. Your best friend times 500” – Doctor Who showrunner Russell T Davies (Radio Times, 2003)
The 1990s
Doctor Who was dead. A deceased programme. It had ground to an ignominious halt in 1989 after a decade of turmoil and, some might say, had died a few deaths along the way. The series would always have a place in my heart, but my fount of enthusiasm was Gobi-dry. The many friendships I’d made through the Doctor Who Appreciation Society drifted, though I kept in touch with one or two people such as Steve Payne and Derek Handley. Richard Marson remained a close pal, even if we rarely met. He was starting a family and his career at the BBC took off spectacularly. It led rapidly to Blue Peter and becoming an editor fit to walk in Biddy Baxter’s wake. Almost in her stilettos.
In London, I was working hard (on tacky TV mags at IPC) and partying hard. My mid 20s were a magical time, a tangle of relationships, a carefree lifestyle, even though the threat of Aids threw its black pall over all of us, and some of my closest friends would die young.
I lived in Florence in the early 1990s and one day received an Air Mail letter from my mum, who was vexed about my vast collection of Doctor Who memorabilia, which my parents were storing in their loft and garage. It all had to go. Or most of it. On my return a mega-purge ensued. Fanzines, DWAS newsletters and pen-pal correspondence going back to the 1970s – all chucked. I sold off a solid run of Doctor Who Weekly and Doctor Who Monthly/Magazine right back to the beginning, as well as loads of other toot I’d accumulated. I ditched half my Target book collection, almost everything covering Tom Baker and the 1980s, which I knew I’d never read again. I retained most of the first three Doctors titles and my treasured Radio Times anniversary specials.
I’ve never been a completist. I’ve always resisted the completist urge that several friends are beset by. I realised way back in the early 1980s, when DWAS historian Jeremy Bentham sent me a list of the missing episodes, that my Doctor Who experience would never be complete. There are dozens of 1960s episodes I’ll never see, thanks to the BBC’s tape-wiping policy. And for me Who has always been more about the TV programmes than anything else. So in the 90s, I kept up with the BBC releases of old stories on VHS, whereas the spin-offs, the ever-expanding range of novels, Missing Adventures, Big Finish audio dramas with stars of Who reprising their TV roles never held any interest.
I eventually settled in Brighton with my best female friend Judy, and my fan gene went into hibernation throughout the 1990s. Occasionally I’d glance at DWM in WH Smith and once or twice I had a nasty turn when I spotted John Nathan-Turner and his partner Gary Downie on the street. The gruesome twosome of 1980s Doctor Who lived in nearby Saltdean. I gave them a wide berth, but one day I turned a corner on the seafront and saw Gary, JN-T and Nicholas Courtney (the Brigadier) coming towards me, raucous with laughter and the worse for drink. Gary issued a “Helloooh, how are yooouuuu…?” before they staggered on.
In 1992, I bumped into Gary Levy on the Western Road in Brighton. By then he’d changed his name to Gary Leigh but was still running the controversial fanzine DWB (Doctor Who Bulletin that he’d renamed DreamWatch Bulletin). He was almost wobbling with ecstasy as he imparted the news that long-lost film recordings of The Tomb of the Cybermen from 1967 had been found. Gary always had a mischievous glint in his eyes so I supposed he was teasing, but he became deadly earnest and averred Tomb’s discovery. My dormant Who heart skipped a beat, and I couldn’t wait for it to come out on VHS.
Though Who was dead, the BBC marked the 30th anniversary in 1993. Fan Kevin Davies assembled an excellent documentary – 30 Years in the TARDIS – with interviews, clips and reconstructions of classic scenes. A proper celebration on BBC1. Then there was Dimensions in Time, JN-T’s mash-up of EastEnders and Doctor Who, which was diabolical – the best that can be said is that it was mounted in a charitable cause (Children in Need).
The Paul McGann TV movie raised my spirits in 1996. He was the most promising Doctor since Tom Baker, but the reboot was misconceived and I wasn’t devastated that it didn’t lead to a series. A week before its transmission, Jon Pertwee died. I heard the news in Budapest and it made me very sad indeed. William Hartnell and Patrick Troughton had predeceased him, but Pertwee had been very much my Doctor.
I was in Pertwee’s presence many times and, of course, it would have been lovely to meet him properly, but I was wary. A friend once told me he’d gone backstage to see Pertwee in his theatre dressing room, and found the star in a tetchy mood, wiping off greasepaint and wearing nothing but a pair of grey polyester Y-fronts. Illusion shattered. I wanted my childhood hero preserved – frilly and cloaked in velvet.
The early 2000s
As the 21st century dawned, Doctor Who was an ebbing fantasy world. In 2001, my wonderful grandfather Pampa, who’d been like a real-life Doctor to me and sat me on his knee in the 60s to brave the Yeti, died at the grand old age of 93. But the Time Lord’s fortunes were regenerating. To my astonishment, in 2003 wild rumours eventually solidified into press announcements that Doctor Who would gain another incarnation under Russell T Davies, whose Queer as Folk (C4) I had so admired.
In the early 2000s, the internet was finally fulfilling its initial promise with boundless fansites and discussion forums. I was a latecomer to Outpost Gallifrey (forerunner of Gallifrey Base) and enjoyed the online banter, reminiscing with old associates. In a similar vein, in 2004 DWM was celebrating its 25th anniversary with a series of articles on its own evolution, written by Marcus Hearn (later the editor). I offered fond recollections of my few years on the title in the 1980s.
This led to a date in the diary. On 6th November 2004, DWM was holding a birthday bash in central London. Richard and I were invited but in two minds about showing our faces. We met beforehand at Pizza Express in Charing Cross and chewed over whether we actually needed to go. The event would be full of people we hadn’t seen for 15 or 20 years, maybe for good reason. Steeling ourselves, we walked down to the Embankment. It was worth it.
The DWM25 do was in a packed, funky club venue by the river and, yes, we saw loads of familiar faces, including my old friends Steve Payne and Jan Vincent-Rudzki, who I’d lost touch with, and our laid-back former art editor, Steve Cook. I wished our 1980s editor Sheila Cranna were there, but she’d made a new life for herself in the wilds of Scotland. I did meet for the first time the then editor Clayton Hickman, and Tom Spilsbury, his deputy and successor. Both great guys. Nicholas Courtney was guest of honour. “Do excuse me, old chap,” he said, as he squeezed through the crowd, brushing his beer belly past mine, to mount a plinth and deliver a tribute to the magazine.
My enthusiasm was building again. This was helped in no small measure by Judy’s son Carl, aged nine, who was getting into Doctor Who. He was being “in-Doctor-inated” by me and another family friend. Didn’t stand a chance. Carl sampled all eras of Who but preferred Pertwee and Troughton. One happy afternoon in Brighton I gave him Troughton’s final story, The War Games. He couldn’t believe there was a ten-part adventure. We watched a few episodes and broke for lunch, then he insisted on going to the end. That (then) 36-year-old TV serial still worked its magic; he was gripped by the storytelling, the gathering pace, and was jumping around the room with excitement during the flurry of denouements in the final three episodes. He was primed for Russell T’s revival with Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper.
2005
All roads seem to lead back to DWM and Radio Times for me eventually. In April 2005, I returned to the DWM fold for the first time in 17 years to contribute a piece for The Complete Seventh Doctor Special. After a similar interval, I was back freelancing at RT. Many old chums were still there from my four-year stint in the 1980s, including art editor Paul Smith and commissioning editor Anne Jowett. They were now a married couple. And if you appreciated RT’s extensive weekly coverage of Doctor Who during the 2005–2010 period, you have them to thank because it was all down to their drive and innovation, supported by the editor, Gill Hudson. I started contributing in minor ways to the features and hooked up with Mark Braxton, the deputy chief sub-editor and a very fine writer, who adores Doctor Who as well as many other classic shows. Over the years he’s become a treasured friend and colleague.
2006
The 2005 season was a huge hit and everyone I knew loved it. Come 2006, and Carl and I had encounters with two fabulous Doctor Who legends. In April, I dragged him all the way from Brighton to East London – all stations to Barking! – for a signing in a Doctor Who shop. Katy Manning! She was a delight, of course, skilled at dealing with fans of all degrees of shyness and boldness, and happy to pose for pictures.
As we hugged, she said, “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” “No,” I said, though I felt like I’d known her since I was six. She held me at arms’ length to stare right at me. “I’m sure we’ve met somewhere before…” “I think I would’ve remembered that,” I laughed. She reckons now it was a premonition of a great friendship to come.
A few weeks later, Richard invited Carl and me to Television Centre to see Elisabeth Sladen’s guest spot on Blue Peter. Though polite and pleasant, she was anxious about appearing on the show to promote Sarah Jane Smith’s return to Doctor Who in School Reunion.
K•9 and his voice artist John Leeson were also present. I had zero interest in them, and it was evident that Lis was cool towards the robot dog too. She was respectful but didn’t want her character forever saddled with K•9, and indeed ultimately a delicate way was found for him to be sent into limbo when Sarah gained her own CBBC series. Lis also graciously signed my Radio Times cover but told me she wasn’t bowled over by the concept or the inelegant pose she’d been captured in. That was my sole meeting with Elisabeth Sladen.
2007
This period of the revival with David Tennant in the lead saw some truly excellent Doctor Who, mostly penned by Russell T Davies, although the apex had to be Steven Moffat’s Blink. A stunning episode. I jumped out of my skin at the first snarling close-up of a Weeping Angel. A decent Doctor Who scare for the first time in decades. Blink also gave us a proto-female Doctor in the form of Carey Mulligan as Sally Sparrow. It led to my very first contact with Steven, whose writing I much admired. I liked his heroine’s name but wondered why “Sparrow” was omitted from all the publicity. He emailed back that he’d adapted Blink from a story in a recent Doctor Who Annual, and her surname would be a giveaway.
Summer 2007 and I was halfway across the Atlantic on the Queen Mary 2, sunbathing on deck when two strapping lads pulled up chairs next to me and started nattering. I peered through the sunlight and clocked Clayton Hickman, who had only just quit as DWM editor. His travelling companion was Gareth Roberts, the witty writer of Doctor Who and many other shows who, coincidentally, had been in my sister’s class at Chesham High School in the 1980s. Gareth always laments how I ruined for him the surprise return of the Cybermen in Earthshock back in 1982. We spent a lot of the rest of that QM2 crossing to New York in each other’s company, gossiping and having a right old laugh. Happy times.
As you go through life, you look back fondly on certain dates that you couldn’t have known would be significant. One such is 20th December 2007. Via Outpost Gallifrey, I had re-engaged with the extraordinary character that is Ian Levine. He is zealous and confrontational and has made a few enemies over the years, but I’ve always seen Ian’s generosity and good heart. And I am forever grateful that he saved so many classic episodes from oblivion. He was hosting a curry night at a restaurant in Ealing and insistent that I come along. “Lots of great people will be there.”
The prospect filled me with dread, but, as with the DWM25 bash, I steeled myself and it was a productive night in many ways. It turned into a wake for Verity Lambert, Doctor Who’s first producer, who had died recently of cancer, and many of her friends and associates were in attendance. Actors familiar from Who were there: Jeremy Young, who’d played the very first villain, caveman Kal in 1963, as well as Peter Miles, most famous as Nyder in Genesis of the Daleks. I would see Peter Miles several times at Ian’s dos, where the host would insist, “Do the line. Do the line!” and Peter obliged with Nyder’s crisp, Nazi-like “Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know.” I also spoke to 1960s script editor Donald Tosh and actor Ian Fairbairn, who’d spooked me as a Primord in 1970’s Inferno.
During the long meet-and-greet, I found myself standing next to Ralph Montagu. Heir to the Beaulieu estate, he was also Head of Heritage at Radio Times but strangely our paths had never crossed. He had a bookish air and a genial nature and I liked him immediately. We were in a huddle with Nicholas Courtney, Dalek designer Ray Cusick and a few fans including my chum Derek Handley and the directors Christopher Barry and Waris Hussein. When it came to the meal, I sat with Waris, Chris Barry and his wife Venice. Chris complained volubly about the state of the BBC, loud music on dramas and the disrespectful scrunching of credits. Waris, however, was ebullient – until the moment came for him to stand up at our table and deliver a fond eulogy to Verity. Everyone was delightful, but I especially hit it off with Waris. For some reason we amused each other greatly. And we vowed to stay in touch.
Anneke Wills (1960s companion Polly) was table-hopping and came to sit next to Waris towards the end of the meal. A radiant, gorgeous woman. She had a little table set up to sell signed copies of her first excellent volume of autobiography. I’d been captivated by Anneke since seeing her picture in the Radio Times 1973 special, and she’d featured in my vague earliest memories of Doctor Who, and here she was, talking to me like a long-term friend. Just as I was heading off into the night, she embraced me and planted a kiss on my lips.
These brief encounters with Ralph, Waris and Anneke would be just the start of three beautiful friendships.
2008
In 2008, the online Radio Times Doctor Who Story Guide was born. Not quite overnight. There was a gestation period before it emerged into the world. Back then, RadioTimes.com was in its infancy and run by a handful of people, headed by Helen Hackworthy, who remains a reassuring presence on the team today. They were on the lookout for ideas so I mooted a complete Doctor Who compendium. Story by story it would comprise essential info, brand-new reviews and showcase RT’s coverage from the very beginning in 1963. Helen greenlit the project immediately.
I could think of no one I’d rather share this mission with than Mark Braxton. It became a monumental undertaking, worked on in our spare time over several years, with a fresh entry released roughly once a week. From 2010, I also published a sort of review/blog after each new episode had aired on BBC1 and later modified those for the Story Guide. Thus, it has continued to grow over 15 years and covers every story to date.
BBC1 was broadcasting Tennant’s final full season in 2008, an excellent run of episodes co-starring Catherine Tate. The Time Lord’s old military allies Unit (now an acronym for Unified Intelligence Taskforce) were featuring more significantly. Time moves on, but I thought it poor form that Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, a favourite character of mine, had been overlooked. The actor Nicholas Courtney was in his late 70s but hale and hearty. Via RadioTimes.com I decided to give him a moment in the sun and, what the hell – I just really wanted to interview a childhood hero.
Nicholas (“Nick” to everyone) lived in Crouch End, a village-y enclave in north London festooned with actors, and he suggested we convene for lunch in All Bar One on the Broadway. At the appointed hour on 11th April 2008 there was more than an April shower. As I rode across north London on my Vespa, a lightning storm struck and I had to duck into a doorway till the downpour subsided. I had only ever seen Nick dapper before, but he turned up windswept and soggy in casual comfy clothes. Warming ourselves over pies and pints for a couple of hours, we nattered about Who and I tried to steer him away from timeworn anecdotes. He was terrific company. It was like having lunch with your favourite uncle. Afterwards, out in the now dazzling sunshine, Nick posed for photographs by Crouch End’s clock tower and town hall, without a care for his dishevelment.
In those days, Radio Times received advance copies of programmes on DVD so that we could preview them for the Choices pages. (Costly and an awful waste of plastic; now it’s all done online.) Our TV editor covered Doctor Who because it was such a popular show, but in time she handed these duties over to Mark, and then to the two of us to share. Watching Who in advance was obviously a delicious treat. With my sub-editor hat on, I occasionally spotted a textual error in the credits and would contact brand manager Edward Russell in Cardiff. Minor mistakes might just be noted, whereas others required action. Watching Gareth Roberts’s hilarious episode The Unicorn and the Wasp, I noticed that Felicity Kendal had been misspelt with two Ls in her surname. She was the major guest star so that simply wouldn’t do. The master copies had to be replaced at considerable expense. (A few years later I spotted a guest star had been accidentally omitted altogether and the name was added 11 days before transmission.)
2009
DWM editor Tom Spilsbury asked me to contribute to a special edition called 200 Golden Moments – marking the fact that the 200th story Planet of the Dead was airing on BBC1. I had to select then explore one key moment from 14 different stories across all the eras. It was very enjoyable and marked the start of a renewed relationship with DWM (now owned by Panini not Marvel), where I’d submit an idea or they’d approach me.
Tom was an excellent editor, becoming the longest-serving in the post and a valued friend. He, his predecessor Clayton Hickman, successor Marcus Hearn and deputy Peter Ware have all been such pleasant men to deal with, and without their dedication DWM would not have survived. In the dicey world of publishing, and with Doctor Who off air for so many years, DWM truly is a survivor. I’m proud of my association with the mag, which now spans four decades.
2010
Bad son time. In January 2010 I took my parents to the BFI to see the 1966 Doctor Who movie, Daleks – Invasion Earth 2150 AD. It was hardly a suitable fit for my folks and at the end I turned to my mum. “Well, how was that?” She looked drained and uttered, “Absolutely dire!” I guffawed but couldn’t disagree. The reason we’d come was that the screening was followed by a Q&A with Bernard Cribbins. He’d featured in the film as comedy relief and, of course, recently co-starred in the final Tennant episodes. My dad adored Cribbins and he proved to be a highly amusing guest. Worth enduring the Daleks for.
Tennant’s popular Doctor had bowed out on New Year’s Day 2010 and to celebrate his era and Russell T Davies’s excellent stewardship of the series, Radio Times started toiling on “Doctor Who 2005–2010”. It was a glossy bookazine showcasing our extensive coverage of the past few years, masterminded by Paul Smith and Anne Jowett. My task was to write the captions and a synopsis/critique of each adventure. RT editor Ben Preston suggested I give star ratings to align it with the Radio Times Film Guide. Russell graciously wrote a glowing foreword. I hadn’t met the man at that point but have in subsequent years, and we email intermittently. He is always a supportive force. And the RT Doctor Who 2005–2010 special was a lustrous encapsulation of that period and a tribute to Russell and his team. It was also a sell-out.
Later that year we followed it with Doctor Who The Companions. I researched and co-wrote this bookazine with Mark and was determined to include people who had been overlooked in the past. RT hadn’t yet interviewed Arthur Darvill, even though he’d made an impact as Rory during Matt Smith’s recent first season alongside Karen Gillan as Amy. My nephew Finn was inconsolable when Rory was erased by the “crack in time” in the Silurian story, The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood. I managed to cover Arthur in a “phoner” interview and he sounded a chilled-out dude, much cooler than the anxious character he played.
At the other end of the time vortex stood William Russell, one of the original stars of Doctor Who in the 1960s. He’d played the first male companion, Ian Chesterton, in fact the show’s hero. He’d rarely spoken to RT but I wanted to include him in the Companions special and run an interview on RadioTimes.com.
In November 2010, I arrived at his front door in north London, and as soon as I rang the doorbell, a window flew open high above and a beaming head emerged. “Is that Patrick? I’ll be right down.” Moments later this spry man, just about to turn 86, was on the doorstep firmly shaking my hand. Then he led me up to a third-floor apartment, the family home for many years. He was born William Russell Enoch, and friends and colleagues call him Russell or, even likelier, Russ.
A vivid memory of that afternoon… He offered me tea, then apologised that his kettle was on the blink, so he was soon boiling water in a saucepan. Tottering across the kitchen with the pan to the teacups, he splashed scalding water on the lino, broke wind and deployed the F word. How unlike the Mr Chesterton of my imagination! I hooted with mirth. Couldn’t help it. But it broke any ice. We shortly settled in two armchairs and whiled away a few pleasant hours talking about his life and career.
I was embarrassed to focus on Russell’s Doctor Who years, when this charming and cultured man had accomplished so much in his long lifetime. But he was delighted that, for a photoshoot, I’d brought along an original camera script from his first episode An Unearthly Child. He’d last held a copy 47 years earlier. I returned a week later with the photographs printed out and he loved them, asking for copies.
Russell cut a remarkable figure, keeping his energy going with joie de vivre, open-mindedness and a thirst for culture. “I’m always looking forward to the next experience. You have to as an actor.” He called me a year or two after our interview and had just returned from Berlin, where he’d watched Macbeth in German. He was then an enthusiastic traveller, often accompanying his wife, Dr Etheline Enoch, on medical engagements abroad. Yes, Russell had married a doctor!
2011
The Doctor Who Experience opened at Olympia in 2011. It was extremely well mounted, a maze of chambers with an interactive adventure featuring Matt Smith’s Doctor, and a chance to display the programme’s intricate sets and monster costumes. I went three times, taking my nieces and nephews, who adored it, and eventually with Richard Marson. He was bemused to be reunited with the Abzorbaloff, a monster design that had won a competition during his time as Blue Peter editor.
On 4th April 2011 the Experience provided a fitting venue for the launch of Matt Smith’s second season, screening the cracking, eerie two-parter The Impossible Astronaut/Day of the Moon. I went along with RT colleagues Anne and Paul, bumped into Gareth Roberts again, met Mark Gatiss for the first time and spoke briefly to Steven Moffat. We’d met once before, when he’d been charming, but on this occasion he seemed grumpy, I imagined on edge about the screening and having to glad-hand obsequious hordes.
Many familiar faces from fandom were in attendance, and it reinforced my view that Doctor Who and its offshoots were now all produced and controlled by fans. I picked up on some strange behaviour, people talking in huddles, looking ashen. I couldn’t read the situation and wasn’t privy to that secret world. But a fortnight later, on 19th April, I was walking my dog when Ian Levine phoned me out of the blue, desperately upset. “I can’t believe it. Lis Sladen is dead! She’s died of cancer.” I thought back to that night in Olympia and wondered if news of her illness had been spreading then. A Doctor Who great was passing into legend, far too early. A lot of people who loved her were mourning, and The Sarah Jane Adventures, the show she’d carried and in which so many had invested, would be no more.
Radio Times went through a seismic change in 2011 as its ownership passed from BBC Worldwide to Immediate Media. At nearby Westfield, IM’s founders held a brunch function to spell out the future, and it was there that Ralph Montagu came up to whisper some top-secret news. Through a local contact, a film collector, he’d discovered two missing episodes: part three of Galaxy 4 (a mysterious Hartnell story) and part two of The Underwater Menace, which became the earliest surviving Troughton episode. Very exciting.
These finds would be unveiled at a Missing Believed Wiped event at the BFI – without fanfare and as a total surprise – on 11th December 2011. I made sure I’d booked tickets for Richard, Jan, Derek and Ian Levine. Keeping a secret from that bunch was nigh on impossible and some got wind of what to expect but when the first reel was projected in the dark auditorium, Ian nearly exploded with joy. A wonderful moment to share with the greatest rescuer of 1960s Doctor Who. Ralph had ensured that RadioTimes.com was first to break the full story illustrated with off-screen images. A coup. And a triumph for Ralph.
Some years earlier, a tragedy had occurred in the lives of my darling chum Richard and his family, the worst possible times, which it isn’t my business to record here. Such is his tenacity, he found a way to keep going and busy himself with work. He is steeped in TV history and has vast experience (he’d been a Blue Peter editor), so I was delighted when he was chosen to produce and direct Tales of Television Centre. For what seemed crazy political reasons, the BBC was surrendering its cathedral to television for redevelopment. Its closure would be marked by a feature-length documentary.
The great and the good queued up to lament TVC’s passing – and extol its virtues as a training ground, a playground, and a world-class production centre since it opened in 1960. No one was better suited to mastermind the task than Richard. In winter 2011, he interviewed everyone from Sir David Attenborough to dance group Pan’s People. I went along when he turned the cameras on Waris Hussein, who’d directed many prestigious dramas at TVC. And Richard enjoyed a hilarious day with three of the Doctor Who “girls” – Louise Jameson, Janet Fielding and Katy Manning. He told me straight afterwards, “You really should interview Katy. I know she’d love you.”
2012
I was very tempted but first I was interviewing Anneke Wills. We’d met a couple of times, but reading her two evocative volumes of autobiography, Self Portrait and Naked, motivated me to invite her for lunch. She had played Polly, a 1960s companion so vivid she hadn’t even warranted a surname, a woman who witnessed the transition from Hartnell to Troughton. But that had been one year, one small aspect in a life and career that took her all around the world in extraordinary circumstances. Anneke stuck me in many ways – for her great beauty, undimmed by the passage of time, a deep spirituality that is way beyond how I see the world, for her mordant wit and the warmth that she bathes you in if she likes you.
In March 2012, we had a laugh over lunch at a trattoria in Hampstead, and it went on so long that transcribing the highlights the next day took some doing. I was highly amused to discover that, when I’d popped to the gents, she’d left a special message on my Dictaphone. We took pictures by Hampstead Ponds and said we’d stay in contact. I never expected we would so was touched that this encounter led to an enduring friendship and years of correspondence. I have a beautiful painting by Anneke, which she gave to my partner and me as a gift of love. It hangs above my desk so I see it every day and think of this deeply lovely woman.
This emboldened me to tackle the prospect of interviewing Katy Manning. She’d always been my number one Doctor Who companion but we’d only met briefly at a signing four years earlier. In April 2012, I invited her for lunch at the Wolseley in central London, and she turned up in a whirlwind of confusion, having forgotten whom she was meeting and why. She sat down, eased off a shaggy jacket, and announced that she was a cheap date as she hardly ate or drank anything. And this was very much the case, though she survived on coffee with four or five sugars in each cup. Within minutes my set of prepared questions was set aside as the conversation pinged off in all directions, and we were having such a laugh that it felt like a reunion with an old friend. Hours passed. It was nearly six o’clock by the time we exhausted ourselves. Katy was astonished. She said she usually gave no more than an hour for an interview so this must be an extraordinary sign we were meant to be friends. I didn’t know how to take that but she was right.
Over the years I’ve got to know Katy as a person, beyond the public personality, seen her joys, heard her woes, as she has mine. She is hilarious company, radiating joie de vivre, full of naughtiness but never indiscretion. She is unfailingly loyal, deeply empathic, strong-willed, extremely quick-witted and, while she might mislay personal items, that’s usually down to her hectic schedule and lifelong poor eyesight. Never mistake her for the gauche persona she might play on screen.
These two worlds of Wills and Manning quickly collided at an event called Utopia in May 2012. I never go to conventions now, but this was a small one and Anneke had enticed me. A weekend at Heythrop Park, a stately home in Oxfordshire that had been converted into a grand hotel. It was a strange affair to observe, with all sorts of major and minor names from the Who-sphere treated like royalty, including the clever chaps from the DVD Restoration Team.
I sought refuge in the lobby in an engulfing armchair, and soon Katy perched on the left armrest for a natter while Anneke emerged to my right, proffering a “Polly Cocktail”. A glass of something strong and green, and a homage to her Cyberman-killing concoction from The Moonbase (1967). Flanked by these two fabulous women, I was in fanboy heaven. On the Saturday, Katy was a hoot, dolled up as her Big Finish alter ego Iris Wildthyme and sailed off on a double decker bus. On the Sunday, Anneke and I hid ourselves away from autograph hunters in Heythrop’s magnificent walled kitchen garden.
I’ve met many figures from the Doctor Who world over the decades. Nearly all have been lovely, but you never expect people you’ve revered, put on a pedestal and, let’s be frank, idolised as a fan, would ever become a friend. A proper friend who knows, loves and understands you and puts up with your foibles. It’s strange when this happens, as it did with Anneke, Katy and Waris Hussein, but in truth it only requires a few heartbeats of readjustment. Now I don’t really think about it and they are just greatly valued pals on the other end of the phone.
The first of hundreds of fun nights out with Katy came on 15th May 2012, at the BFI premiere of Richard’s Tales of Television Centre. It was a hugely enjoyable evening but I, like many, was overwhelmed with a flood of emotions. Paramount was pride that my mate Richard, whom I’d known since he was a 17-year-old schoolboy, had produced such a perfect documentary. Mirth at many of the celebrity anecdotes in the film, but also nostalgia for all the programmes we’d seen being made there, not just Doctor Who but Top of the Pops, Victoria Wood as Seen on TV, Blue Peter, Blackadder… and the days just wandering around the studios and corridors, and long boozy nights up in the BBC Club bar. Profound sadness that it was all passing. Katy sat next to me in the dark and during the last section of the film she was clasping my arm, streaming with tears. It was a relief to get to the afterparty in the BFI’s Blue Room with friends like Ralph and Dominic May.
August 2012 saw another BFI preview screening – the start of the third Matt Smith series, Asylum of the Daleks. Matt was up in the Blue Room bar afterwards, slim, handsome and charismatic. Despite a bashful air, he had magnetism and people flocked to him. I lolled against the bar to grab a beer and struck up a conversation with a tall, thick-set chap with a friendly nature. It was only as we parted that we introduced ourselves. “I’m Patrick from Radio Times.” I think he’d heard of me. “And I’m Chris, Chris Chibnall,” he said. Oh gawd, I thought. What have I said about stuff he’s written? I knew he’d made a lot of Torchwood and I wasn’t enamoured with that. He said he’d scripted a couple of episodes for the new season and agreed to speak to me if I needed any info. Indeed, I did shortly phone him about Dinosaurs on a Spaceship and The Power of Three. And I used Chris’s explanations to augment my review/blog for both episodes.
During all this time since our first meeting in 2007, my friendship with Waris had deepened. We’d met each other’s partners, enjoyed many dinners, trips to the movies, dog walks on Primrose Hill and in Battersea Park, and he came to all my birthday parties. He’d been my plus-one at several Doctor Who screenings, after which his verdict was usually unprintable. To me, the sign of a true friendship is one where you can speak on the phone for more than an hour, about anything and nothing, and laugh uproariously, then hang up wondering where the time went and remember things you forgot to say. Waris and I have one of those.
2012 culminated in style when he held a gathering at a club in St James’s, central London, to celebrate his 74th birthday and, more importantly, his civil partnership with Jean-Louis Nancy. A very happy day. But Waris was also hugely looking forward to 2013. Not only was it the 50th anniversary of his baby, Doctor Who, he was going to be immortalised on screen himself in a BBC drama called An Adventure in Space and Time.
Next: the highs of the 50th anniversary
My Life as a Doctor Who Fan in full:
- Part 1 – the 1960s to 1974
- Part 2 – 1974 to 1981
- Part 3 – 1982 to 1984
- Part 4 – 1985 to 1989
- Part 6 – 2013 to now
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