First of all, a little background information. My first Doctor was Jon Pertwee – but my memories of him are very vague and consist mainly of unsettling moments concerning plastic daffodils and giant maggots. The Doctor I really grew up with, therefore, was the great Tom Baker. Tom was everything the Doctor should be: crazy, eccentric, alien – a manic grin, incredible sense of fun but with a very palpable dark side. That was what I wanted – that was what I loved. He was the Doctor. He was MY Doctor. As a child, you put your trust in the Doctor. You watched the show and knew that, no matter what happened, no matter what horrors were on screen, you would be perfectly safe because the Doctor was there.
I’m not sure whether New Who fans can really appreciate or understand the sheer devotion the show generated from children in the 1970’s. Every child watched it – if they didn’t then they certainly never admitted it – and each episode was heavily discussed and dissected in school playgrounds across the country. The show had a hold over children that is very difficult to explain and there was simply nothing else like it on our very limited 3 channel televisions. The show entranced children. It captivated us in a way that nothing else managed to do.
For those who have never experienced “Doctor Who” through a child’s eyes then let me give you a little taste. Saturdays were spent in an agony of excitement. You tried desperately not to actually leave the house – just in case something happened and you couldn’t get back home in time for “Doctor Who” (no videos or internet remember – if you missed it then you MISSED it). No matter what you were doing, one eye was firmly focussed on the clock – and usually that meant taking your place in front of the television hours in advance of transmission.
With each episode only being transmitted once and with no way of recording it, we certainly had to be dedicated and, in some cases, creative in order to watch the show. We had a thunderstorm once which led to a power cut about 10 minutes prior to “Doctor Who” starting – obviously, I was practically orbiting the ceiling in panic. My dad picked up our portable black and white television and led me out to the garage. He popped open the bonnet and hooked up the television to his car battery. So, with howling wind, rain and occasional flashes of lightning, we stood in the garage and happily watched the episode via the television propped up on his car engine. I have friends who missed family holidays in order not to miss an episode – which goes to show that the passion for “Doctor Who” tends to start early.
As a child you could lose yourself in an episode. Oh, you were just utterly and completely transported with the Doctor into these magical and delicious worlds. When “Doctor Who” was on – nothing else existed. 100% of your attention was focussed on the television – you lived every second with the Doctor and his companions. As you grow older, you tend to lose that – you still remember how it felt but a little bit of the magic fades and you mourn the loss of that time of innocence.
