Cumberbabes notwithstanding, it might be assumed that conventions are overwhelmingly male affairs but this is increasingly not the case. “Since the new Doctor Who series began, and Billie Piper set it all off, it’s been a delight to see young girls coming to conventions,” says Hadoke. Fischer estimates a 50/50 split now, with many whole families attending.
For his book, Fischer attended a Robin of Sherwood convention, which was “predominantly female”, noting that “the men there tended to be husbands, dragged along and dressed up as medieval peasants to accompany their serving wench wives”.
Fans Lisa and Andrew Parker have many fond convention memories, the best of which involve actors who played feared characters turning out to be charming and enormous fun.
Anthony Ainley, the fourth actor to play the dreaded Master in Doctor Who, was a gracious individual who offered Murray Mints to his fans, greeted ladies by kissing their hand and merrily offered a Masterly “What an unexpected pleasure” to people who pointed their camcorders at him.
Michael Sheard, a Doctor Who regular, best known as the humourless Mr Bronson in Grange Hill, “was an extremely nice man with a great sense of humour”, remembered for japes like lobbing “God-knows-how-old sausage rolls” into the audience and taking over the evening entertainment. TV historian John Williams recalls observing a “dance floor full of Who fans at 1am” from a safe distance, anaesthetised by the surfeit of alcohol that fuels the best fan gatherings.
We were abruptly seized from behind,” Williams recalls. “A husky voice said,‘Boys, are you fans? Mr Bronson’s here’ and after a brief struggle Sheard let us go, sprinted to the dance floor, berated the DJ and then demanded dances to the strains of School’s Out. The next morning at about 8am, I struggled down to breakfast and there was Sheard, bright as a button, signing autographs. Remarkable man.”
A recurring theme is the friendliness that abounds. “I went to conventions for things I wasn’t a massive fan of, and I was made totally welcome at all of them,” says
Fischer. “The fun of it for me is that you get a broad spectrum of fan-dom, from dilettantes dipping a toe to people who clearly think about nothing else all day.” Hadoke observes a wider purpose: “Conventions can be a social thing for people who might not be sociable otherwise.
At one, a parent said her son wanted to meet me because he listened to all of my [podcast] shows. He was very quiet, but anywhere else he might have been apologising for himself.
“Being surrounded by like-minded people gives these people confidence. Doctor Who is emphatically a good thing, it facilitates creativity and promotes a benign world-view. ”
For the TV guests, there is a fee and possibly a chance to sell merchandise but, while this is clearly a moneyspinner at Sherlocked, Hadoke is not sure it is much of a pension boost at the more homely conventions. The old actors turn up for the fun.
“The ones that don’t enjoy it don’t do it,” he says, adding that many who would have left Doctor Who off their CV 15 years ago are now proud of their contribution.
“Many who really should be asked about more than just Doctor Who now say it’s nice to be remembered for anything,” says Hadoke, “Ray Lonnen’s Twitter biography mentioned his appearance in Frontier In Space. He was in four scenes, but he knew that a lot of people would be interested in that more than Harry’s Game or The Sandbaggers.”
Often anything but conventional, conventions represent fun and camaraderie in an increasingly fractured world. “Conventions are joyous when so many things are cynical and miserable,” Toby Hadoke concludes, “It’s easier to deconstruct something than it is to find the joy within it.” Give it 20 years, and Benedict might well be finding joy with the fans by the A404(M). Just keep him away from the sausage rolls.
