Spiral Mutterings 11: A Man is the Sum of his Memories...

So said Peter Davison in "The Five Doctors".

I am writing this piece after returning from a trip to my native Yorkshire, to see my beloved Leeds Utd play Celtic in a testimonial game for Gary Kelly. As I had two days in God's own country, I took advantage of the time to visit relatives, and reminisce. As I proudly announced that some of my work was being published, albeit on the internet at the moment, it got me to thinking about why Doctor Who has meant so much to me over the years. What follows is a very personal journey through the "Why I am a Doctor Who fan" story.

Mine may be a very particular story, but hopefully, it will touch nerves with others out there. I was born in 1968, the illegitimate son of a civil servant and a divorcee. My maternal grandmother was very Victorian in her outlook on life, and as such, it was deemed the done thing for my mother to stay at home and look after her in her dotage. Whenever it looked as though my mother was going to settle down, Grandma stepped in and threatened to disown her. So it was that when I came on the scene, and my father wanted to settle down with me and mother (and an older brother from my mum's previous marriage), Grandma said that we would never be allowed to darken her door again. So Mum never left, Dad settled down with someone else, and was not allowed to see me.

Now, at the time I was born, doctors discovered a tumour in my mother, and recommended surgery. Unwilling to leave my Grandma alone with me and my 9 year old sibling, the said operation was refused by my mum. As a result, by 1972, she had died, and I was thrown into a custody battle. Times being what they were, a grandma was deemed more suitable than a father to bring up a child. So I was brought up, as the youngest child in a family consisting of grandma, and 2 grandchildren. Needless to say, this was not the world's happiest environment. I am fully convinced that the reason I have not captained an England team in the World Cup is due to the fact that I lacked a father figure to kick a ball around with (that, and a lack of any footballing ability whatsoever - though it never stops Phil Neville being picked!).

But where does "Who" come into this cathartic piece, I hear you ask. Well that was my father figure. To date, I have had 9 fathers. Chronologically, as they affected my life, they are Jon Pertwee, Tom Baker, Peter Davison, my natural father, Sylvester McCoy, William Hartnell, Pat Troughton, and Paul McGann.You see, the misery of my childhood was escaped, for 25 minutes every Saturday evening. From 5.25pm, I was with the Doctor, and nothing could go wrong. Until that fateful time we visited Metebelis III, and Jon Pertwee collapsed in UNIT HQ.

I was 6 at the time, and openly wept as the radiation from the Great Queen's cave destroyed his cells. For those precious minutes on a Saturday evening, I was transported away from my world, and off to dangerous locations, surrounded by evil monsters such as Daleks, Silurians, Sea Devils, and Axons. But it was okay, as my pseudo-dad, The Doctor, and my big sister (first of all Jo, and then Sarah) would make it alright in the end.In 1979, it was decided by the powers that be that my Grandma was too old to care for me (in truth, this had been the case when she got custody, but watcha gonna do?). I was taken into foster care, and yet my real family still existed in a blue box that was bigger inside. In tribute to the Gearys, Meyricks, Dobsons, and Briggs's that took care of me over the next few years, my false belief in the Doctor being my male parent waned. However, the Doctor's future was somehow tied in with my own....

In 1980, I was adopted. At last I was going to have a family of my own, with a dad, a mum and two lovely sisters. They had a plan of emigrating to New Zealand. Unfortunately, as the Master battled with the Doctor on the gantry of the Pharos project in 1981, this happy future also fell to Earth with a bump. Due to the difficulties we had had, it was decided that the adoption would fall through, rather than let me start being unhappy halfway around the world. I became disillusioned with everything and everyone around me (including the Doctor...for shame!) and when I moved on to the next foster family, I left the Doctor behind as well...

In 1983, however, my interest was briefly piqued again. I discovered Drama, and became involved in a string of school productions. After I passed the audition for the part of Paddy the Chief Engineer in the musical Star Trek spoof DAZZLE, I also discovered that the good Doctor was having a reunion with his previous selves. I watched "THE FIVE FACES OF DOCTOR WHO" season with interest, but was denied watching the UK premiere of "THE FIVE DOCTORS" by an embarrassing case of diarrhoea, which kicked in just after Billy Hartnell's "I shall come back" speech. Unfortunately, I didn't come back from my ablutions until a good 60 minutes in....it would be 1990 before I saw THE FIVE DOCTORS in full.

I missed the entire Colin Baker era, as I concentrated on a new concept. Teachers had discovered I had some intelligence, and they, along with my foster parents, managed to drag me out of academic mediocrity. As I strived to achieve my "O" and "A" levels, I had something other than the Doctor to occupy me. I had also discovered two other new things in the world - pop music, and GIRLS! It was not until I met the girl who would become my wife that I revisited Dr Who. The subject got mentioned in a conversation one night. She had seen the entire first McCoy season, and had been convinced it was rather good. I agreed to watch the 25th season, and was delighted by REMEMBRANCE OF THE DALEKS. So much was I excited by this story, by the time Season 26 came around, we were married, and our first child was on the way. Martin was born just as Survival aired.

The series died. And, as time went by, so I realised that the only thing that my wife and I had in common was "Who". We split in 1994, and I had my son at weekends. There is a theory that babies are particularly susceptible to those sounds that they pick up whilst in the womb, and this was borne out by Martin, who would only go to sleep to the haunting refrain of Ron Grainer's "Dr Who" theme. The last time I saw Martin, was in 1994, and my new partner and I took him to the 21st Anniversary of Longleat's Dr Who exhibition. I still have, to this day, the photo of father and son peering out of the doors of the mock-TARDIS entrance. Other abiding memories include Martin (a very strident 5 year old) getting into a pretend fight with Peter Davison, when at a signing session Martin told Peter "You're not Doctor Who!". The former vet was naturally upset by this and much hilarity ensued. Other fond memories include the two of us sitting in Bessie, meeting JNT, and a Cyberman that impersonated various Doctors. Happy Days......

In 1996, Dr Who's fate was once more inexorably tied up with my own. On the May bank holiday, Dr Who - The Movie aired in the UK. A day later, I achieved a long-standing ambition. I arrived to work at the BBC in London.Now, at the age of 33, I write articles on Doctor Who, and have penned a couple of pieces of short fiction. To me, Doctor Who is more than just a TV show, or a book franchise, or a series of exciting adventures in space and time. Its an old friend. And unlike so many old friends over the years, it is one I have never lost contact with.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every person that over the years has contributed to the show that has been my (almost) constant companion. This especially goes out to the late Jon Pertwee, the late JNT, Tom Baker, Peter Davison, Colin Baker, Sylv & Sophie, David Banks, and Nic Courtney, whom I was privileged to meet.

Sentimental old sop, aren't I. This article was written in 2002, and I admit I no longer see the Doctor in quite the same fatherly way. After all, Chris Ecclestone's only a few years older than me, and David Tennant is a few years younger. However, the new series has brought with it, yet again, new adventures for me. I am about to embark on a small scale acting career. It would be a dream come true if I could one day appear behind a prosthetic mask, and utter the immortal line "Resistance is useless, Dok-tor".