An Unearthly Child: Remembering the Birth of Doctor Who

The cover of this vintage Radio Times is more than just an old magazine—it’s the birth certificate for a cultural phenomenon. Dating from November 1963, it heralds the debut of a new Saturday afternoon television series: Dr. Who. The sepia-toned image captures the original quartet of characters spilling out of the iconic Police Public Call Box, with William Hartnell's stern, intense face as the mysterious Doctor front and center. This is where it all began: the foundation of the longest-running science fiction series in history.

When Doctor Who first aired, it was unlike anything else on television. The premise—an enigmatic old man, known only as the Doctor, traveling through time and space in a rickety time machine called the TARDIS—was revolutionary. The show was conceived by the BBC to be an educational children's program, alternating between historical adventures (for the educational value) and thrilling science fiction stories (for the fun). The companions, schoolteachers Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright, and the Doctor's own granddaughter, Susan Foreman, served as the audience's human guides through the impossible.

William Hartnell’s First Doctor was a complex, almost abrasive figure, far from the heroic archetype the role would later become. He was often tetchy, grumpy, and highly suspicious of his new human companions, whom he essentially kidnapped. He wasn't a hero driven by altruism; he was a desperate, exiled wanderer, and the true character arc of the early series was watching this alien figure gradually grow to care for humanity through his interactions with Ian and Barbara. This made the First Doctor a unique and compelling lead, grounding the fantastic adventures in a very human emotional journey.

The show became an instant smash hit, cementing its future with the debut of the Daleks in the second serial. These terrifying, hate-filled metal pepperpots captured the public imagination overnight and set the template for all Doctor Who monsters that followed. The combination of historical drama, thrilling futuristic concepts, and the suspenseful encounters with aliens proved irresistible to a post-war British audience.

Perhaps the most enduring symbol born from this era is the TARDIS. The time machine’s chameleon circuit, designed to disguise it in any time period, famously broke down in 1963, leaving it permanently stuck as a Police Public Call Box. This unassuming, blue box, a common sight on British streets at the time, became the gateway to infinity, epitomizing the magic of the show: a familiar object that was "bigger on the inside".

This Radio Times cover is a precious artifact, a tangible link to the genesis of a global phenomenon. It reminds us that the vast, complex, and beloved saga of Doctor Who all started quietly, on a Saturday afternoon, with an old man, a couple of teachers, a young girl, and a malfunctioning blue box.