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Doctor Who was facing a crisis. No, this wasn't the show's titular hero facing off against the Daleks, or the Cybermen, or even the Terrible Zodin. No, this was a crisis in the real world. Over the previous two years, the programme’s ratings had begun to stagnate. Audiences were growing up, and their tastes and wants had begun to shift in new and exciting directions. What had also stagnated was the budget, and the costs of producing new sets, costumes and monsters for every serial was beginning to take its toll. Who was struggling to keep up.


Patrick Troughton wasn't facing a crisis, but being surrounded by one isn't exactly a walk in the park. Though he enjoyed his work, the stresses of a heavy, almost year-round work load were beginning to take their toll. He felt more suited to guest roles; short runs. He was a character actor at heart, and did not wish to be typecast. Approaching 50, with six children, four of them still in school, he also wished to slow down and hopefully spend more time with them. In June 1968 Troughton made it known to Producer Peter Bryant and higher-ups at the BBC that he wished to leave at the end of his third season; the sixth overall. Most of these people he had told argued for him to stay on, for a little while longer at least. The show was reaching a crossroads, and while some had argued that a complete clean sweep would aid the show, others advocated for some form of continuity to guide the programme, and the audience in turn through the next season. Change is feared, after all.


Troughton was on the fence, but three things ultimately convinced him to stay. The first was the news that the next season would only run six months of the year, instead of the ten months the show had historically run on. The technical limitations of switching to colour television production had effectively halved the number of episodes per season. While this brought with it new complications, it was an extra few months off. Relating to this, the second reason was starring in a programme produced in colour. Most people at home would still be watching in black and white of course, but some including Troughton's family would have the pleasure of watching their father facing off against his many foes in the full spectrum of colour. That is, if they could see past the film grain and beige walls.


The third was seemingly insignificant compared to the first two, but it was just enough to push him to a decision. Troughton got into his car one dreary afternoon, after about a week and a half of being persuaded to stay. As he left the Television Centre parking lot, an upbeat tune began to play over the radio.


“The time is approaching four o'clock, this is Pete Brady with a song that we hope cheers you up and brightens up the afternoon, especially on a day like today when it's pouring with rain. So why not stay indoors, just a little bit longer?”



“Stay! Just a little bit longer. Please, please, please, please, please tell me that you're gonna!”


“Heh, even in my own car I can't escape it!” Troughton mused to himself.


“Well...I suppose I could...”


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A Cosmic Hobo in Colour

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