Doctor Who: The Edge of Destruction

It all started, they would say later, in a forgotten
London
junkyard on a foggy November night in 1963. But in truth, for Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright it had started some five months earlier.

It had all begun with fifteen-year-old Susan Foreman who had just joined the school. From the start Susan had proved something of a mystery. Despite five months’ constant nagging from Miss Johnson, the school secretary, she was still unable to produce a birth certificate or indeed any other documentation to prove her status; neither was her grandfather, with whom she lived, on the electoral register of Coal Hill or any other
London
district.

She had just returned from a long stay abroad, Susan explained, and the necessary papers were still in transit. Miss Johnson had thought of telephoning the girl’s grandfather but he was not listed in the phone directory; the two letters she wrote to him remained unanswered. Fortunately Miss Johnson was a mild-mannered woman, not the normal stuff of school secretaries, and as the months passed she began to despair of ever completing her file on Susan Foreman.

Looking at Susan, Barbara Wright could believe that the girl had spent most of her life abroad. Her speech was clear and precise, as though English was not her mother tongue, or at least she was unused to speaking it.

Occasionally she would use a word or phrase in her conversation which, although not technically wrong, was unsuitable, just as if she had learnt English from a text book. When she spoke, however, it was with a peculiar lilt which was not unattractive.

She often seemed nervous in the presence of her fellow pupils, as if she was uncertain of their customs, and though she was a pleasant enough girl she seemed to have few friends at school; those pupils she did associate with appeared rather in awe of her.

The one time Barbara had asked Susan about her background the girl had just smiled sweetly and said, ‘We travelled around quite a lot when I was a child.’ But Susan’s large almond eyes, finely-boned cheeks and slightly Oriental complexion suggested that she had some Asiatic blood in her.

As history teacher, Barbara Wright had a special interest in Susan. Most of Barbara’s pupils regarded history as a dull chore, especially when it was the last lesson on a Friday afternoon. But Susan greeted each lesson with genuine enthusiasm. She was passionately interested in every period of history and at times displayed a knowledge of certain ages which astounded even Barbara. Barbara recognised in Susan a potential university candidate and offered to work with her at home; but Susan had firmly refused, giving as an excuse the fact that her grandfather did not welcome strangers,

Ian Chesterton, the handsome young science master, had been having similar problems. Susan’s marks for her written papers were consistently excellent—surprisingly so for a girl of her age—but in class she seemed strangely detached, as though Ian’s practical demonstrations of physics and chemistry simply bored her. Even the spectacular experiments Ian reserved for Monday morning, in a futile attempt to gain his pupils’ jaded post-weekend enthusiasm, failed to excite her spirits. At these times Susan seemed different from the rest of the class, a girl apart.

But if Susan was extraordinarily good at science and history, she was unbelievably bad at other subjects. Her geography was laughable, and her knowledge of English literature at best patchy: she could quote, for example, huge chunks of Shakespearean verse but had never even heard of Charles Dickens, let alone read any of his works. However, her foreign languages—French, Latin and the optional Ancient Greek—were surprisingly fluent for a schoolgirl, a fact Barbara put down to her having lived abroad and acquired an ear for languages.

In short, Susan Foreman was a problem child. And so it was on a foggy Friday night in November that Ian and Barbara resolved to visit the girl’s guardian and discuss her erratic performance at school. Miss Johnson gave them her address—76 Totters Lane—and they drove there in Ian’s battered old Volkswagen. It was a journey that changed their lives forever.

76 Totters Lane
was far from what Ian and Barbara had expected. They had imagined it to be a rather dilapidated terraced house in a slightly run-down area of London; instead it was nothing more than a junkyard. There, surrounded by the clutter of unwanted pieces of furniture, and discarded bicycles and knickknacks, was, of all things, a police telephone box, similar to many which stood on London street corners at that time. But like
76 Totters Lane
this police telephone box was not what it seemed.

Even years later in their old age Barbara and Ian would never forget that first thrill of disbelief as they entered that out-of-place police box. Instead of the cramped darkened space they expected to find beyond the double doors, they crossed the threshold into a spacious, brilliantly lit futuristic control room whose dimensions totally contradicted its outside appearance. Standing in the middle of the impossibly huge control control chamber, astonished to see them, was Susan Foreman.

And there Ian and Barbara finally met their problem pupil’s grandfather, a tall imperious septuagenarian with a flowing mane of white hair and a haughty demeanour which suffered no fools gladly. Dressed in a crisp wing collar shirt and cravat and the dark frock-coat of an Edwardian family solicitor he seemed to the teachers to be not of their time, an anachronism from another point in history all together.

As indeed he was. For Susan and the man they were to come to know as the Doctor were aliens, beings from another planet unimaginable light years and countless centuries away from the Earth of 1963. The machine in which they were standing was the TARDIS, a philosopher’s dream come true, a craft capable of crossing the boundaries of all space and all time, and of bending all the proven laws of physics.

Suspicious of the true intentions of the two teachers and wary that if they were allowed to leave they would reveal his and Susan’s presence on their planet, the Doctor had activated his machine and taken all of them to prehistoric Earth. There they were captured by a group of savage cavemen and nearly sacrificed to their god. It was the courage and resourcefulness of Ian and Barbara which saw them through that crisis and returned them safely to the TARDIS.

Having won the Doctor’s grudging respect—if not yet his friendship—the two teachers demanded that he take them back to their own time. But mental giant though he undoubtedly was, even the Doctor did not understand fully the complexities of the TARDIS; and so it was that their next journey took them not to Earth but to the desolate radiation-soaked world of Skaro in the distant future. There they encountered the deadly Daleks and once again the Doctor displayed his distrust of all other creatures but his granddaughter Susan, at one point even going so far as callously to suggest abandoning Barbara in order to leave the planet safely. Ian had vetoed that suggestion and the four time-travellers finally survived their ordeals and returned to the TARDIS.

But as Ian and Barbara left the planet Skaro they began to realise that the chances of them ever seeing their home world again were very slim. Their entire fates were in the hands of an irascible old man whom they did not understand and whom they still did not trust.

The vicissitudes of his character were a constant puzzle to them; at one moment he could be generous and caring to a fault, the next he was a selfish old man whose only concern was the safety of himself and his granddaughter. And now that they knew of her origins even Susan’s behaviour appeared disconcerting and unpredictable.

Indeed, it seemed to them that the only thing remaining constant and unchanging throughout their travels was the TARDIS itself, running with the emotionless, unthinking precision of a well-conditioned if slightly erratic machine.

But they were wrong, far more wrong than they could ever have realised. For the TARDIS was more—much, much more—than a mere machine...

The tall glass column in the centre of the six-sided central control console rose and fell with a stately elegance, indicating that the TARDIS was in full flight. Around the console, the Doctor fussed with the controls, adjusting this dial and checking that read-out from the on-board computer.

As at all similar times he was oblivious of his companions, his only thought being to guide the TARDIS through the hazardous lanes of the time vortex and back out into the universe of real time-space. Beside him his companions watched with rapt fascination.

Ian and Barbara looked on, not quite knowing what the Doctor was doing but impressed by his seeming facility at and mastery of the complex controls. Susan had seen this procedure many times before but even she felt a sense of awe as the old man drove home the final levers on the control panels.

The Doctor stood back from the console, a satisfied gleam in his eyes, and flexed his hands, as a pianist would after a particularly long and difficult piece. Suddenly his brow furrowed and, worried, he bent forward over the controls. His companions noticed his sudden concern but there was no time to remark upon it.

A tremendous crash resounded throughout the control chamber, deafening them, and the floor itself began to vibrate beneath their feet with stomach-churning violence. They staggered away from the console as the shuddering increased, knocking them off-balance and throwing them into the walls and the pieces of antique furniture which littered the room.

At the same time a searing white light burst out from the central column. Instinctively they all covered their eyes. So intense was the light that for one appalling moment their bones were visible through the skin of their outstretched hands.

A massive charge of power circulated throughout the entire room, a charge so powerful that their feeble nervous systems could not cope with it and unconsciousness descended mercifully upon each one of them.

The blaze of light from the column slowly faded to an insignificant glimmer. All around the four senseless bodies lights flickered and faltered and then faded altogether, until much of the control room was in darkness; only a few emergency lights provided any sort of illumination. A thin shaft of light beamed down on the control console and on the glass column which had now fallen to a halt.

The TARDIS was deadly silent. The constant humming of the motors and machinery, and the clatter of the banks of computers, had all ceased. The only noise to be heard was the soft and irregular breathing of the Doctor, Susan, Ian and Barbara, as they lay, struggling to hold on to life, unconscious and helpless on the floor of the time-machine.

The school bell woke Barbara up. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around, annoyed at herself for having fallen asleep once again during one of the few free periods she had in her timetable. She ought to be up and about, marking essays and preparing classes, she reminded herself, not dozing off in one of the comfortable armchairs in the staff room of
Coal
Hill
School
.

But as she gathered her thoughts together, she excused herself on the grounds that today had been an exceptionally busy day. For a start she had had to fill in for Mr Lamb, the German master, who was taking a party of schoolchildren on a study trip to the
Black Forest
. After that she had had a difficult period with Class 4B for whom the American War of Independence had been just a good excuse to start an ink pellet battle.

She looked anxiously at her watch and then breathed a sigh of relief. She still had another forty minutes before her class on the Aztecs of fifteenth-century
South America
, ample time to think of some way to grab the interest of less than enthusiastic pupils. She glanced across the staff room at Ian Chesterton and allowed herself a small smile as she saw that he too was slumped in a chair fast asleep.

Suddenly she started. Ian shouldn’t be asleep; didn’t he have a class right now?

If the headmaster found he had missed a class because he was having forty winks there would be all hell to pay. Still slightly groggy with sleep Barbara stood up and crossed over to the slumbering science teacher.

‘Mr Chesterton?’ she said, shaking him gently by the shoulders. ‘Ian, wake up.’ But Ian merely muttered and carried on sleeping.

Barbara turned around sharply as she registered the presence of another person, standing at the other end of the room. She was about to reprove the girl for entering the staff room without knocking when she saw her pale expression. Barbara’s natural sympathy went out to her and she rushed over to her. The girl was obviously in some distress.

‘It’s Susan Foreman, isn’t it?’ she said.

The girl nodded vaguely and then put her hand to her temple and moaned. She seemed on the verge of fainting and Barbara supported her by the arm. ‘Have you hurt your head?’ she asked.