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‘I think that if I live to be ninety, a little of the magic of Doctor Who will still cling to me!’

William Hartnell from The Making of Doctor Who

Malcolm Hulke and Terrance Dicks

WILLIAM HENRY HARTNELL was born on 8 January 1908 at 24 Regent Square, South Pancras, London. His mother, Lucy Hartnell, was a commercial clerk. To his dying day, William Hartnell never knew who his father was or where he originated from. His mother had come from Taunton, and Hartnell maintained a love of the West Country throughout his life. This may explain why he lied about his birthplace on Desert Island Discs in 1965, claiming that he came from Seaton in Devon, which of course he hadn’t.

Hartnell’s formative years were in a tough, working-class environment. His illegitimacy would have caused him some embarrassment and he would get into scrapes as a young working-class boy. If we are to believe a journal he left behind after his death (written in the early 1920s and mentioned in his own granddaughter’s biography of him), he was fostered by a family called Harris while his mother took employment as a nanny in Belgium. In Hartnell’s biography Who’s There (Virgin, 1996), written by his granddaughter Jessica Carney, it relates that he would again live with his mother in Holborn sometime later, but he continued to be a wild-card into his teens, when he had to choose a profession.

At the age of 16 (1925), Hartnell took to the boards, but not as an actor. He joined Sir Frank Benson’s Shakespearean Company as an assistant stage manager, property manager, assistant lighting director and general dogsbody. It was a two-year apprenticeship in theatre and classical acting skills, with the occasional opportunity of taking a walk-on part. It was all tough work at the end of the day, as Hartnell explained: ‘It was good training. Not only in Shakespeare, but in keeping fit. Sir Frank Benson believed in keeping actors in good health and we were organised into hockey teams and cricket sides.’ Benson was in his late sixties by then, so little chance of him exerting himself too much!

By the age of 18, Hartnell was touring the country as an actor, the bug to perform finally taking him over. He no longer wanted to hide backstage, but wanted to progress his love of comedy. For six years, he would tour in comedy and song and dance shows, understudying such respected actors as Bud Flanagan (from the infamous Crazy Gang). From this, he progressed to understudying in London’s West End, but would take the main role when the play left London and toured the provincial cities. So Hartnell built his skills slowly and became quite well known in the acting world as a player of farce. This progressed to short comedy films in the 1930s, such as one of Hartnell’s favourite roles (albeit only a 50-minute feature) as a man, Edward Whimperley, who eats an explosive, in I’m an Explosive (1933).

Comedy was a love of Hartnell’s as he confessed, ‘my real guiding light was Charlie Chaplin. He influenced me more than any other factor in taking up acting as a career.’ A lot of actors adopt an initial love of comedy before settling down to another genre, for example, horror icon (and one time Doctor Who) Peter Cushing had an early role opposite Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy in their movie A Chump at Oxford, in 1940.

Hartnell played in over 20 films before the outbreak of the Second World War, not all of them comedy, but many quite short character roles with his parts quite minor.

Hartnell’s career was stopped by the war. He was drafted into the Tank Corps but very quickly had a nervous breakdown and was invalided out after 15 months. ‘The strain was too much,’ he said. ‘I spent 12 weeks in an army hospital and came out with a terrible stutter. The colonel said, “Better get back to the theatre. You’re no bloody good here!”

‘I had to start all over again. I was still only a spit and cough in the profession and now I had a stutter which scared the life out of me.’

Hartnell worked hard to overcome his illness, which he did with gusto. In 1942, he had an uncredited role as a German soldier in the Will Hay classic The Goose Steps Out. Although his part in this film was very minor, Hartnell was working with a major comedy star of his day, which gave him much exposure. In fact, Hartnell’s cold image in the film set against Hay’s chaos is noteworthy and was a taste of what was to come. As Hartnell’s roles got larger, they also grew colder.

His first real praiseworthy appearance was in a movie called Sabotage at Sea (1942), where he played a villain under heavy make-up and moustache. Through this role, Hartnell learned that you didn’t need much make-up to be a sinister character. A normal-looking man with much facial expression could be just as cruel; so Hartnell developed and grew with each significant role he played.

In 1943, Hartnell was approached by film producer Sir Carol Reed to play an army sergeant (Ned Fletcher) in the film The Way Ahead, alongside David Niven and a young John Laurie (later Fraser in Dad’s Army). Hartnell’s role was very gritty. The film centres on a group of conscripts and how they deal with military life. It opens in 1939 with Chelsea pensioners stating that if war was declared Britain would be in trouble because ‘young men can’t fight’. As the film was made in 1943, one could label The Way Ahead a propaganda movie, with just enough flag-flying to show young conscripted men that they were doing the right thing by going to war. Eric Ambler and Peter Ustinov’s script is better than that though, with a down-and-dirty edge. Hartnell’s gung-ho sergeant counterbalanced by David Niven’s over-privileged officer commanding enhances the film further. The Way Ahead is a film that explains much about its time and is one of the highlights of Hartnell’s career.

Hartnell’s character is a stern no-nonsense regular soldier – not a conscript – who has to whip the new conscripts into shape, anticipating many of his film roles to come (including Carry On Sergeant). Hartnell really made an impression in the film, with his hard piercing stare and cast-iron personality.

His first scene is in itself a show of strength: heckled by a man at a railway station he holds back but looks dangerous. Unfortunately for the man, he becomes one of the sergeant’s conscripts, but Hartnell’s character never mentions it or shows any extra animosity towards him, which shows an impressive depth of character.

The film is very true to life in its interpretation of how the different walks of life came together in the barrack room and how they were brought together as a credible unit by their screaming sergeant, something Hartnell does an awful lot of.

The Way Ahead showcases Hartnell in his prime: a robust young actor with a resonant voice and much stage presence. He works perfectly alongside David Niven, especially when Niven questions his discipline with the men; but perhaps that discipline is as feisty as that bestowed upon him no more than 18 months previously in his own war. This strongly suggests that Hartnell was a better actor than a soldier.

The Way Ahead was a big success and Hartnell became a popular actor, albeit now typecast. But perhaps he can blame himself for that. With regard to The Way Ahead, he visited a real-life army sergeant, thus overcoming his wartime angst and showcasing his desire to always research his roles thoroughly.

Hartnell’s typecasting became more prominent in the theatre with Seagulls over Sorrento (1950), which starred John Gregson, Nigel Stock, Bernard Lee and Ronald Shiner. Hartnell was Petty Officer Herbert in this nautical farce. The play tells the story of a group of volunteers in a disused wartime naval fortress, where secret peacetime radar experiments are going on. Although a comedy, Hartnell was the straight man, the no-nonsense military officer, and people began to know what to expect from him when he came on stage or screen. Theatre World said of the production, ‘… although the play has many serious moments (for all the men have their own reasons for volunteering), it is undoubtedly for its rich comedy that it has achieved such outstanding success’.

Hartnell longed to do more comedy roles, but the typecasting had taken over completely. In 1951, he took a role as a recruitment sergeant in The Magic Box, a movie made to celebrate The Festival of Britain and showcased many great British character actors. The film was a biopic of the life of dreamer and pioneering inventor William Friese-Greene, including talent such as Joyce Grenfell, Margaret Rutherford, Joan Hickson, Thora Hird, Sid James, Richard Attenborough and even Laurence Olivier in a cameo role as a policeman.

One little-known fact about The Magic Box is that one of London’s most notorious gangsters, Ronnie Kray, made a blink-and-you-miss-it appearance as an extra. Along with a group of East End kids, Kray was selected as an extra, and is clearly seen for the shortest second. Albeit in his teens at the time, it was something the fame-seeking killer would dine out on throughout his life.

Hartnell did return to comedy, albeit as an army sergeant again, in the TV comedy series The Army Game (1957–58, 1960–61) and the first Carry On film, Carry On Sergeant (1958), in itself a pastiche of The Army Game (and with parallels with The Way Ahead). Hartnell was really giving himself the niche role of over-serious officer that had a bunch of dead-enders to sort out; and the laughs would be generated by the dead-enders not by him.

In fairness, perhaps it was his unforgettable role as supercool gangster Dallow against Richard Attenborough’s Pinkie in Brighton Rock (1947) that really typecast him, less than five years after playing Sergeant Fletcher in The Way Ahead. A powerful role in a popular film does tend to do this, and throughout the 50s Hartnell resigned himself to playing the hard man.

Dallow was a dangerous man and although Hartnell wasn’t the biggest man, his stern face, slightly gruff voice and probing eyes made a menacing presence on screen alongside Attenborough’s psychotic character, Pinkie.

One does get the impression that Hartnell’s character is the boss in Brighton Rock; his sharp suits and cool exterior set against the cavalier antics of Pinkie, certainly suggests a role of authority, made complete by Hartnell’s acting skills.

Brighton Rock is a strange film, based on Graham Greene’s iconic novel of post-war gang warfare in Brighton, and centres on the fact that a wife can’t give evidence against her husband.

The tough roles continued. In 1957, Hartnell appeared as Cartley, the bespectacled, hard-nosed manager of Hawlett Trucking, in Hell Drivers, another great British movie and one that highlighted excellent young talent, such as future James Bond Sean Connery, Stanley Baker, Gordon Jackson, David McCallum, Herbert Lom, Sid James and Patrick McGoohan in one of his finest roles.

The film opens with Stanley Baker’s character – Tom – approaching Cartley for a job. Cartley is quick to lay down the law, which Tom, with no other option open to him as an excon, accepts without question.

The Hell Drivers are the fastest road-haulage carriers around, and the faster they go the more money they make. There is much fighting and competition between the drivers, causing high tensions, but nobody of importance cares. These men are outcasts, low-lifes with nothing to lose; they are ostracised by the local people and even by their families but, for some of them, there is a crumb of pride – there is friendship. When Tom learns of a shady deal between Cartley and his reckless foreman (McGoohan), the movie quickens in pace towards a fatal accident, which leaves Tom crying out for revenge against the money men who have exploited him and his friends.

Hell Drivers is a passionate film, with quality input from McGoohan and McCallum – with their seldom-heard Scottish accents – but Connery, Baker, James and Lom are all excellent too, as are the female leads, Peggy Cummins, Jill Ireland and Marjorie Rhodes.

Although Hartnell only appears at the beginning and the end of the movie, his hard-man presence as the company boss is felt throughout the film, making Hell Drivers a milestone in his career, as well as a classic, gritty and tough British movie.

Hartnell did have a couple of comedy roles amidst the hard stuff. In 1959, he played alongside Peter Sellers in The Mouse That Roared, and he worked with Sellers again in the Boulting Brothers comedy Heavens Above, albeit as Major Fowler.

In 1963, Hartnell broke the mould and gave one of his very best performances, playing talent scout ‘Dad’ Johnson in This Sporting Life.

The movie starred Richard Harris and Rachel Roberts, both of whom were nominated for Oscars (Roberts eventually picking up a BAFTA).

The screenplay was written by David Storey, based on his own novel, and, from the moment the eerie Jerry Goldsmith-type opening music starts (composed by Roberto Gerhard), it is clear that this film is very different.

Roberts’s character is a bitter woman who is indifferent to miner Frank Machin and his hard ways. Machin is a talented rugby player who the kind, gentle and modest ‘Dad’ takes under his wing to get into big-time rugby. He succeeds and, once he accomplishes this, he quietly moves on.

This Sporting Life had some great cameo roles in it, such as Arthur Lowe and Leonard Rossiter (Slomer and Phillips, respectively), which enhances the enjoyment by lightening the storyline somewhat.

It was This Sporting Life that brought the possibility of Hartnell becoming Doctor Who to the show’s producer. Verity Lambert went to see the movie (released January 1963) and was struck by Hartnell’s depth of acting ability. Hartnell’s gentleness and life experience is a perfect counterbalance against Richard Harris’s unthinking bullishness, and one that impressed Lambert very much.

Lambert approached Hartnell’s agent to see if he would be interested in taking on the role of Doctor Who. She must have had much charm in order to persuade the agent into asking Hartnell. It wasn’t his type of work after all. He had started out doing Shakespeare and adult comedy, then became the tough-guy actor. But perhaps this was Lambert’s carrot on a stick: to offer something completely different to the actor, something as wonderful as the role of ‘Dad’ Johnson. The agent made the call and said, ‘I wouldn’t normally have suggested it to you, Bill, to work in children’s television, but it sounds the sort of character part you have been longing to play.’ The agent went on to explain that the part was ‘of an eccentric old grandfather-cum-professor type who travels in space and time’.

Hartnell wasn’t too sure about the part, but did agree to meet Verity Lambert and find out more. He said of the meeting: ‘The moment this brilliant young producer, Miss Verity Lambert, started telling me about Doctor Who I was hooked.’

Perhaps it wasn’t as clear-cut as that. Hartnell did go away and consider the offer and perhaps it was the diversity – the break from the typecasting – that persuaded him to take it on, as Lambert recalled, ‘[he] was interested but wary’ when first offered the role. However, he soon made a decision and called her to accept the part.

Hartnell would find the work gruelling. He was in his mid-fifties and working 48 weeks a year, learning a variety of scripts and performing an action role, which ‘was very hard work’, as he admitted. Despite this, he ‘loved every minute of it’.

The show became a smash hit, and Hartnell loved the idea of working for a young audience, as he said, ‘To me kids are the greatest audience – and the greatest critics – in the world… You know, I couldn’t go out into the high street without a bunch of kids following me. I felt like the Pied Piper.’

This was a fact echoed by his wife Heather, who used to pick him up from the railway station after a day’s filming. She would say that he would get off the train and walk down the road with a stream of children behind him – not unlike the Pied Piper.

Hartnell played Doctor Who for three years and became quite wealthy because of it, earning the equivalent of about £4,000 per episode in present-day money, which was a good regular salary at the time.

Hartnell said he quit Doctor Who because he didn’t see eye-to-eye with the BBC over the use of ‘evil’ in the show. He wrote in a letter to a fan, Ian McLachlan, in 1968 that, ‘It was noted and spelled out to me as a children’s programme, and I wanted it to stay as such; but I’m afraid, the BBC had other ideas. So did I, so I left.’

In her preface to Jessica Carney’s biography of William Hartnell, Verity Lambert said that Doctor Who ‘emanated from the Drama Department and not, as was the norm, the Children’s Department’. This may be the reason why the show started to develop more ‘adult’ themes and ideas. As the old production staff moved on (including Lambert), more drama-based staff would take over in order to beef up the darker side of the show. This became more prevalent during Patrick Troughton’s time as the Doctor – so clearly the show was naturally progressing through the department it had originally come from (Drama not the Children’s Department). This genesis could explain why the show attracts a broad fan-base from people of all ages, not just children, nowadays.

Many critics think that Hartnell left for other reasons, i.e. he was pushed out because he cost too much money (other regular actors were getting a quarter of what he was earning per episode), but the original six-page treatment of the show clearly stated as a first paragraph that Doctor Who was ‘an exciting adventure – Science Fiction Drama serial for Children’s Saturday viewing’. This vindicated Hartnell’s reasons for leaving.

Hartnell loved the adoration of young fans, but when the show started to get more sophisticated – more grown up and darker – his love and attachment towards the show started to diminish. This is reinforced by the fact that in 1964 he came up with an idea of a series called The Son of Doctor Who, in which a wicked son would wreak havoc across the universe and the Doctor would have to step in to sort things out. The BBC was not keen on the idea but sometime afterwards Hartnell said, ‘I still think it would have worked and been exciting for children.’

One could argue that Hartnell’s The Son of Doctor Who idea anticipated the new series’ story ‘The Doctor’s Daughter’, in which the audience is given the distinct idea that a spin-off series is highly likely and, above all, has the potential to be successful. In ‘The Doctor’s Daughter’, it was the real-life daughter of Doctor Who Peter Davison, Georgia Moffett, who would take on the part.

Hartnell preserved the dignity of his ‘grandfather’ character during his reign as Doctor Who. In truth, his ailing health dictated that he couldn’t have stayed on much longer in the role, even if he wanted to. A shame really, as four years later the show would be shown in colour. However, a story like ‘Spearhead from Space’ (the first Jon Pertwee – and colour – story), in which walking shop-window dummies killed innocent civilians and consequently attracted the wrath of real-life parents, would have been the final heartbreak for Hartnell.

When one appreciates how poor and unhappy Hartnell’s formative years were, one can understand why he was a little over-sentimental towards children as the Doctor, not unlike the sensitivities Charles Dickens would show his young characters in his novels (he had a bad time himself as a child, while working in a blacking factory, and his heart and soul was always with the younger generation).

William Hartnell left Doctor Who at exactly the right time, unaware of the legacy he would create by doing so. The show was still popular, for he had quit while he was ahead. The BBC wanted it to continue, so another actor had to take over; the idea of regeneration took shape and gave the show its own excuse for reinvention. It is widely accepted that Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis came up with the idea of regeneration; indeed, they were writers of the very last William Hartnell Doctor Who story, ‘The Tenth Planet’, the first story ever to star the Cybermen.

Heather Hartnell said that her husband was happy that Patrick Troughton took over the role. Hartnell was familiar with ‘Pat’s’ work, having worked on a film with him before Doctor Who (Escape starring Rex Harrison in 1947), so he believed the future of the show was in good hands.

Hartnell would make one further appearance as the Doctor in the show, for the tenth anniversary story ‘The Three Doctors’, playing alongside his successors Patrick Troughton and Jon Pertwee. He was a very unwell man at that time and had to read his short cameo roles from dummy boards, but he did it and enjoyed the experience too, spending some time with Troughton and Pertwee for publicity photographs, although he looked terribly frail by that time.

Within two years of the photo call, Hartnell would be dead from arteriosclerosis. He died on 23 April 1975, aged 67. Until her death in 1984, Heather Hartnell wrote to fans all over the world and attended several Doctor Who events; such was the impact and legacy of the first ever Doctor Who.

Today William Hartnell’s place in TV history is secured. He was the man who made Doctor Who popular – magical – with children all over the world.

Perhaps one of the best epitaphs Hartnell could have had, albeit inadvertently, was within a two-page feature in the 1965 Doctor Who annual. Entitled ‘Who is Dr Who?’, the article speaks fondly of Hartnell’s time traveller: ‘He is mostly very gentle and kind-hearted and he has the utmost respect for life of any kind… and his heart is big enough to respect every one of the countless forms life has taken in all the ages and all the worlds.’

Hartnell believed wholeheartedly in Doctor Who, so much so, in fact, he lived the part more than any other he ever played, as he told Jack Bell of the Daily Mirror on 23 April 1966: ‘Doctor Who has given me a certain neurosis – and it is not easy for my wife to cope with. I get a little agitated, and it makes me a little irritable with people. In fact, Doctor Who seems to be taking over.’

Was this the reason why he left the show, the character taking him over? No, but the irritability was the first sign of his growing illness, arteriosclerosis, something not totally appreciated when he was in the role. He found it difficult to remember his lines. He lost his temper with cast members very quickly, especially new ones. All the original cast and crew had left to pursue other projects, and, coupled with his failing health, he began to feel at odds with the show he so deeply loved.

Why did he love it so much? Let us consider that in many of his post-war roles he had played an army officer and, what with such a traumatic exit from the war himself (and his love being comedy not tough-guy roles), a general dissatisfaction is clearly evident regarding the course of his career.

Another reason for his love of Doctor Who is encapsulated in a quote from the Doctor Who Tenth Anniversary Radio Times Special, where he recalls his lasting memory of the show. He had been asked to open a fete, so he dressed in his Doctor Who clothes and turned up in an old car owned by a friend. ‘I’ll never forget the moment we arrived. The children just converged on the car cheering and shouting, their faces all lit up. I knew then just how much Doctor Who really meant to them.’

Further evidence of the reality of the show for children comes from Hartnell’s last Doctor Who companion, Anneke Wills, who said: ‘… my own children got wound-up in it. One day, while I was away rehearsing, they saw an episode in which I got carried off by monsters. They were very worried about whether I was going to come home that night. They didn’t realise that the episode they had been watching had in fact been recorded the week before, and they half-believed their poor mum had been gobbled up by the wicked monsters!’

So Hartnell had made a credible character and starred in a show that had a strong young audience, but what about afterwards? Was there life after Doctor Who? If he was a TV icon, was Hartnell allowed to move on after the show? Also, if it was his most fulfilling role, was he happy to be a jobbing actor again?

No, would be the general answer to all these questions.

Hartnell was already booked to appear in pantomime that first Christmas after leaving the role. Handbills for Puss in Boots highlighted the fact that ‘Television’s original Dr Who’ would be a major star (when in actual fact he was Buskin the Cobbler looking like Doctor Who!). If that wasn’t enough, other promotional lines for the pantomime read, ‘Meet the monsters from Outer Space… Super Win-a-Dalek Competition’. Clearly, Hartnell wouldn’t be allowed to forget his greatest role very quickly.

Although the pantomime played to large audiences, it had its fair share of criticism, which stemmed largely from technical problems. Acoustics were a nightmare, with the orchestra being too loud and actors, including Hartnell, too quiet when reciting their lines.

Regardless, Hartnell continued to act and, in February 1967, he recorded an episode of No Hiding Place entitled ‘The Game’. Suddenly Hartnell was back in a military role, this time an ex-Indian army sergeant turned rent collector. One reviewer was quick to spot the former Doctor Who, saying that he wished one of the cast would turn into a Dalek and observed, ‘He [Hartnell] is Doctor Who’ (James Hastie, Scottish Daily Express). Critics were harsh, and Hartnell wasn’t truly allowed to move on; actors who have played the Doctor ever since might possibly be wary of typecasting simply because of the way Hartnell was treated.

But still Hartnell tried to carry on, taking on a guest spot in the popular Softly, Softly, in January 1968. It was here that he seemed to emerge from a low point. Due to the lack of work, harsh criticism and health problems – the main cause of his declining acting abilities – he had been drinking an awful lot; but he suddenly perked up.

On 25 April 1968, Hartnell discussed doing a Robert Bolt play at the Bristol Old Vic. It was called Brother & Sister and would co-star Sonia Dresdel; but it appeared that he had problems grasping the nuances of the part. The play ran for four weeks but didn’t go on tour thereafter, the reason unclear. Just a couple more TV spots came his way after that, finishing with his return – in colour – in the anniversary Doctor Who story, ‘The Three Doctors’.

It seemed that Doctor Who overshadowed his career after he ceased to play the role, but it was Hartnell’s escalating health problems that were the main cause of this, not a lack of acting skills. His consequent depressions led to more drinking bouts and, after brave efforts to restore his health and start acting seriously again, he fell short of expectation. Perhaps in hindsight he should have retired after Doctor Who, but he loved his work and didn’t want to give in to illness, and aren’t so many people like that?

In retrospect, Hartnell had done enough to secure his memory in the hearts of the nation. He was Doctor Who? not the Doctor! When he played the part, nobody knew who the character was and where he came from; he was exciting and intriguing. Indeed, it has never been explained in the show if Susan Foreman was his grand-daughter or not, as Carole Ann-Ford explained, ‘It was never really explained how she [Susan] came to be with him, but it was sort of accepted that they’d escaped together from another planet’. Was she a fellow alien, or an Earth child – perhaps an orphan? Although Anthony Coburn’s original script of ‘An Unearthly Child’ has now been found, it takes nothing away from the intrigue that surrounded the show in its formative years.

During the Hartnell years, there was a real air of wonder and eccentricity about the character and the show itself. Even the music was strange, and its eeriness, coupled with the grainy black and white of the show, helped achieve greater thrills for the expectant audience.

One last thought and, perhaps, final compliment to William Hartnell: when Richard Hurndall took on the role of the first Doctor in ‘The Five Doctors’ to celebrate the show’s 20th anniversary, his character was given much respect from his successors. It was even the Hartnell character who solved the cryptic question set by the great Rassilon himself at the end of the story, which earned nothing less than an admiring shake of the head from the third Doctor. He was ‘the original’ as Hurndall declared, and a great respect for the first Doctor Who has endured ever since.

It is clear that William Hartnell left the programme with a heavy heart when he knew he couldn’t cut the mustard of a gruelling production schedule any more. He bowed out of show business slowly – painfully – over an approximate three-year period after that, with his only memorable performance being his return to the show seven years later for his very last TV acting appearance.

He was the Doctor of mystery, an eccentric old man and the original interstellar Pied Piper – something his successor Patrick Troughton would build upon…

‘All the little boys and girls,

With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,

And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,

Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after,

The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.’

The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Robert Browning