The Fight at Finnesburg (A Fragment)

Another translation from Anglo-Saxon, circa 1991.

This poem is a fragment of a much longer work, now lost. It describes a battle between Danish and Frisians warriors in a place called "Finnesburg", the location of which is today not known with any certainty. Interestingly, an extended description of the same story can be found in "Beowulf", and several of the characters (Hnaef, Hengst) are mentioned in several other Germanic works, leading some scholars to speculate an historical basis for the story. The Wikipedia entry can be found here.

PERMISSION IS HEREBY GRANTED to reproduce this translation, so long as the following conditions are met: 1) It is to be used for classroom or other educational purposes; 2) That it is not to be reproduced for profit; and 3) That the translation be properly credited to its translator, namely me (Douglas B. Killings). If you have any questions about reproducing this work, you may contact me at DeTroyes@sbcglobal.net. Thank you!

--DBK

The Fight at Finnesburg

(a fragment)

 

Verse translation:

 

...gables not burning."

Then cried aloud the young hero king:

"This is not the eastern dawn, nor is there a dragon flying;

nor are this Hall's gables burning.

But here carry our weapons forth. The birds sing;

the grey wolf cries. The spears shout;

the shield answers the shaft. Look how this moon shines

wandering under the cloudy heavens. Now arises those woeful deeds

which this people's enmity will carry out.

Now all awaken my warriors;

hold your linden shields; resolute in your strength;

unfurl your spear points; be steadfast in your courage!"

Then arose many gold-adorned thanes; their swords girded.

Then to the door went the noble champions,

Sigeferth and Eaha, (their swords drawn),

and at the other door Ordlaf and Guthlaf;

and Hengst himself returned on his footsteps.

At that time Garulf Guthere held back

so that he such a noble body would not first venture

through the Hall's door bearing his bejewelled weapons,

so that in the violent battle he would not be taken away;

but it was he who asked above all without concealment

what brave warrior was it who guarded the door.

"Sigeferth is my name," said he, "I am the Secgena's lord,

a wanderer known far and wide; many actions I have endured,

severe battles. What is here yet destined

of you two selves to me I am willing to seek out."

Then was that mead hall resounding in slaughter.

Then were those white shields on bold hands

breaking open the helmets. The fortress-floor resounded,

until in that fight Garulf fell,

foremost of all Earth dwellers,

Guthlaf's son; around him so too did many good

trustworthies, where the raven circled above

the gloomy and sallow-brown. Sword-flashing continued

and all around Finnsburuh was a fiery battle.

Never have I heard of more splendid men at war

than these 60 victory-heroes better behaved,

nor young warriors' white mead better repaid,

than did repay Hnaef's own warriors.

For five days they fought, and suffered not one fallen

noble-companion; but the doors held.

Then turned away one wounded hero another direction walked;

saying that his mail-armour had broken,

the vigorous army-clothing, and also was his cover pierced.

Then immediately asked he the guardian of the people

how then this battles wounded survive,

whether those other youths...

 

Prose Translation

(Line 1) ...gables are not burning."

(Lines 2-12) Then cried aloud the young hero king: "This is not the eastern dawn, nor is there a dragon flying; nor are this Hall's gables burning. But here we must carry our weapons forth. The birds sing; the grey wolf cries. The spears shout; the shield answers the shaft. Look how this moon shines, wandering through the cloudy heavens. Now arises those woeful deeds which this people's enmity will carry out against us. Now all awaken my noble warriors! Hold your linden shields; be resolute in your strength; unfurl your spear points; and be steadfast in your courage!"

(Lines 13-17) Then arose many gold-adorned thanes, their swords girded. Then to the door went the noble champions Sigeferth and Eaha, their swords drawn, while to the other door Ordlaf and Guthlaf went; Hengst himself meanwhile returned on his footsteps.

(Lines 18-27) At that time Garulf was held back by Guthere, so that such a noble person would not first venture through the Hall's door bearing his bejewelled weapons, and so in the violent battle be taken away. But it was Garulf who asked loudly what brave warrior was it who guarded the door on the inside. "Sigeferth is my name," said he, "I am the Secgena's lord, a wanderer known far and wide. Many conflicts have I endured, savage and severe battles. Whatever is yet destined for you two selves I am willing to seek out."

(Lines 28-42) Then was that mead hall resounding in slaughter. Then were those white shields on bold hands breaking open the helmets. The fortress-floor resounded, until in that fight Garulf fell, the foremost of all these Earth dwellers and the son of Guthlaf, while around him so too perished many good and trustworthies warriors, while a raven circled above the gloomy and sallow-brown dead. Sword-flashing continued and all around Finnsburuh was a fiery battle. Never have I heard of more splendid men at war than did these 60 victory-heroes better behave, nor was the white mead of young warriors' better repaid than did Hnaef's own warriors repay. For five days they fought, and suffered not one fallen noble-companion; and still the doors held.

(Lines 43-48) Then one wounded hero turned away and another direction walked, saying that his mail-armour, that vigorous army-clothing, had broken and also his helmet pierced. Then immediately asked the guardian of the people how were this battle's wounded surviving, whether those other youths...

Quick Note

For a variety of reasons (not just because of the recent election), I'm going to refrain from discussing any politics right now. I'm all politic'ed out.

Widsith

Another translation from Anglo-Saxon, circa 1991. As with my translation of The Dream of the Rood, this translation also appears to have been periodically used as class material in the teaching of Old English.

The poem itself appears to be a fragment of a much larger work, which sadly has not come down to us intact. The text fragment as we have it today survives as an excerpt in the Exeter Book, which is a compedium of miscellaneous Anglo-Saxon poetry compiled towards the end of the 10th Century AD. Thus, the work is generally believed to have been composed sometime in the 9th to 10th Centuries AD. The Wikipedia entry can be found here.

PERMISSION IS HEREBY GRANTED to reproduce this translation, so long as the following conditions are met: 1) It is to be used for classroom or other educational purposes; 2) That it is not to be reproduced for profit; and 3) That the translation be properly credited to its translator, namely me (Douglas B. Killings). If you have any questions about reproducing this work, you may contact me at DeTroyes@sbcglobal.net. Thank you!

--DBK

Widsith
 

Verse Translation

Thus Widsith spoke, revealing a treasury of words,

he to the greatest degree of the tribes over the Earth,
and its peoples have traveled through; often he in the hall received,
valuable treasures. He from the Myrgings
his noble blood sprang. He with Ealhhilde,
the beloved peace-weaver, was on a journey,
the Victory King's village they sought
to the East of Angle, Eormanric,
the angry and traitorous. Thus he spoke these many words:
"Many people have I talked to, rulers mighty in power!
Obliged these people are in virtuous conduct to live,
one earl after another their country to rule,
he who his throne wishes it to prosper!
There was Hwala for a while the most noble,
and Alexander's entire kingdom
as well as his kin, and he was the most that thrived
which I have often on this Earth have heard reports of.
Attila ruled the Huns, Eormanric the Goths,
Becca the Banings, the Burgundians by Gifica.
Casere ruled the Creeks and Caelic the Finns,
Hagena the Holm-Riggs and Heoden the Gloms.
Witta ruled the Swaefe, Wada the Halsings,
Meaca the Myrgings, Mearchealf the Hundings.
Theodric ruled the Franks, Thyle the Rondings,
Breoca the Brondings, Billing the Werns.
Oswine ruled the Eow and the Eats by Getwulf,
Finn Folcwalding the Frisian-kin.
Sigehere the longest of the Sea-Danes ruled,
Hnaef the Hocings, Helm the Wulfings,
Wald the Woings, Wod the Thurings,
Saeferth the Sycgs, the Swedes by Ongendtheow,
Sceafthere the Ymbers, Sceafa the Longbeards,
Hun the Haetwars and Holen the Wrosns.
Hringweald was called the war-chief King.
Offa ruled the Angle, Alewih the Danes;
he was that man who was the bravest of all;
however he over Offa in valor did not pass,
for Offa forged first among men,
when he was but a boy, most of his nation.
No one of his time was in valor mightier
on the battlefield. Once with his sword
he gained the mark of excellence with Myrgings
by Fifeldor; his ground held afterwards
by Angles and Swaefe, so Offa could strike.
Hrothwulf and Hrothgar held the longest
peace together, uncle and nephew,
after they repulsed the Viking-kin
and Ingeldes to the spear-point bowed down,
hewn to pieces at Heorot the Heatho-Beard's army.
Therefore I passed through many foreign lands
and through spacious ground. Good and evil
there I became acquainted with while my native country was remote
tho my kinsman's spirit followed from afar.
Forwith that I may sing and to tell my tale,
before this illustrious host in the Mead-hall,
how my noble patrons chose to reward me.
I was with the Huns and with Hreth-Goths,
with Swedes and with Geats and with South-Danes.
With the Ven I was and with Vendels and with Vikings.
With the Gepids I was and with Wends and with Gefflegs.
With the Angles I was and with Swaefe and with Aenenes.
With the Saxons I was and with Sycgs and with swordsmen.
With the whalemen I was and with Deans and with Heatho-Reams.
With the Thyring I was and with the Throwen,
and with Burgundy, for there I received a ring:
there Guthere gave to me a bright treasure
my songs to reward. No paltry King was he!
With the Franks I was and with Frisians and with Frumtings.
With the Rugians I was and with Gloms and with Rome-Welsh.
So too I was in Italy with Aelfwine,
he had of all mankind, to my knowledge,
the easiest hand for praise to strive after,
encouraging generously the giving out of rings,
and a brilliant ring I was given, the child of Eadwin!
With the Saracens I was and with Serings.
With the Creeks I was and with Finns and with Ceaser,
he who a festive city of powerful might possessed,
riches and female slaves and Rome the great.
With the Scots I was and with Picts and with Scride-Finns.
With the Lidwicings I was and with Leons and with Longbeards,
with heathens and with heroes and with Hundings.
With the Isrealites I was and with Exsyringians,
with Hebrews and with Indians and with Egyptians.
With the Moides I was and with Persians and with Myrgings
and with Mofdings against the Myrgings,
and with Amothings. With the East-Thyrings I was
and with Eols and with Ists and Idumings.
And I was with Eormanrice for some time,
there to me the Goth king strove to be good;
he to me an ornament passed over, that founder of cities,
which therein was worth six-hundred in pure refined gold,
were the treasure portioned in a count of shillings;
this I to Eadgils the possession gave,
my protecting lord, when I to my dear home approached
with the reward, and there he to me some land passed over
in my father's native country, this ruler of the Myrginga.
And to me then Ealhhild another ring was given,
that noble queen, daughter of Eadwin.
So that her pleasant praise would extend through many lands,
I in song sang the praises of her,
wherein I under the brilliant [sky?] knew this great
woman ornamented with gold and dispensing gifts.
This with Scilling I declared in a clear voice
for the benefit of my noble lord and in great song,
loud and noisy was the harp that made me sound melodious,
and afterwards many men of spirits that were splendid
spoke words, that of all they were acquainted with,
it was never in song better proclaimed.
After that I passed through the entire realm of the Goths,
seeking I companions that were of the best variety;
such was the household of Eormanric.
Hethca sought I and Beadeca and the Herelings,
Emerca sought I and Fridla and the East Gotans,
wise and good, the father of Unwen.
Secca sought I and Becca, Seafola and Theodric,
Heathoric and Sifeca Hlithe and Incgentheow.
Eadwin sought I and Elsa, Aegelmund and Hungar,
and that stately company of the With-Myrgings.
Wulfhere sought I and Wyrmhere; often there foul conflict was not given up,
for that quick army was harsh with sword
around Vistula-wood where wearily they shielded
their old country from Attila's people.
Raedhere sought I and Rondhere, Rumstan and Gislhere,
Withergield and Freotheric, Wudga and Hama;
not that these comrades were the worst,
though I in the last place name in this song.
Often from that group hissing in flight
yelled the spear at fierce people;
pressing their rule to the gilded gold
of men and women, where Wudga and Hama.
So therefore I found at festivals out there on the cart,
that he who is the most beloved to country-dwellers
is one who is good to his heroes strong
whilst he posses his land, as long as he here lives."
Thus it is the course of bards to shape and to change into words
the splendor of men through-out the many lands,
profiting from what they say, and speaking words of glory,
traveling South or North they meet
recounting wisdom and giving praise,
before the retainers set up before authority,
their fame grows, until all departs,
light and life together; he works for this glory,
for beneath the heavens this glory is permanent.

 

Prose Translation

(Lines 1-9) Thus Widsith spoke, revealing a treasury of words, for he more than anyone has traveled among the tribes over the Earth, and among its peoples. Often he received in the halls valuable treasures. From the Myrgings his noble blood sprang. With Ealhhilde, the beloved peace-weaver, he was on a journey, seeking the Victory-King's village to the East of Angle; Eormanric, the angry and traitorous king. Thus he spoke these many words:

(Lines 10-34) "Many people have I talked to, including rulers mighty in power! Obliged these people are, one earl after another, that if they wish their throne to prosper and their country to rule, they must conduct their lives in virtue! For a while the most noble was Hwala, while also there was Alexander's entire kingdom and his kin; his kingdom was the largest that thrived of which I have often on this Earth have heard reports of. Attila ruled the Huns, Eormanric the Goths, Becca the Banings, and the Burgundians were ruled by Gifica. Casere ruled the Creeks, Caelic the Finns, Hagena the Holm-Riggs and Heoden the Gloms. Witta ruled the Swaefe, Wada the Halsings, Meaca the Myrgings, and Mearchealf the Hundings. Theodric ruled the Franks, Thyle the Rondings, Breoca the Brondings, Billing the Werns. Oswine ruled the Eow and the Eats were ruled by Getwulf, while Finn Folcwalding ruled the Frisian-kin. Sigehere ruled the Sea-Danes the longest, Hnaef ruled the Hocings, Helm the Wulfings, Wald the Woings, Wod the Thurings, Saeferth the Sycgs, the Swedes by Ongendtheow, Sceafthere the Ymbers, Sceafa the Longbeards, Hun the Haetwars and Holen the Wrosns. Hringweald was called the war-chief King.

(Lines 35-44) Offa ruled the Angle, and Alewih the Danes; here was a man who was the bravest of all! However, he never passed Offa in acts of valor, for Offa forged most of his nation first when he was but a boy. No one of his time was in valor mightier on the battlefield. Once with his sword he gained the mark of excellence with Myrgings by the River Eider; his ground held afterwards by Angles and Swaefe, so Offa could strike into the heart of the enemy.

(Lines 45-67) Hrothwulf and Hrothgar held the longest peace together, this uncle and nephew, after they repulsed the Viking-kin and forced Ingeldes to bow down before their spear-points, the army of that Heatho-Beard chief hewn to pieces at Heorot. Therefore I passed through many foreign lands and through wide open spaces. Good and evil there I became acquainted with while my native country was remote, tho my kinsman's spirit followed with me even from afar. Forwith that I may sing and to tell you my tale, before this illustrious host in the Mead-hall, know how my noble patrons chose to reward me. I was with the Huns and with the Hreth-Goths, with the Swedes and with the Geats and with the South-Danes. With the Ven I was with, and with the Vendels and Vikings. With the Gepids I was with, and with the Wends and Gefflegs. With the Angles I was with, and the Swaefe and Aenenes. With the Saxons I was with, and with the Sycgs and swordsmen. With the whalemen I was with, and with the Deans and Heatho-Reams. With the Thyring I was with, and with the Throwen, and with Burgundy as well, for there I received a ring: there Guthere gave to me a bright treasure to reward my songs. No paltry King was he!

(Lines 68-78) With the Franks I was with, and the Frisians and Frumtings. With the Rugians I was with, and the Gloms and Rome-Welsh. So too I was in Italy with Aelfwine, for he had, of all mankind to my knowledge, the easiest hand for praise to strive after, encouraging generously with the giving out of rings -- and a brilliant ring I was given, thank the child of Eadwin! With the Saracens I was and with the Serings. With the Creeks I was and with the Finns and with Ceaser, who possesed a festive city of powerful might, riches and female slaves and Rome the great.

(Lines 79-108) With the Scots I was with, and the Picts and the Scride-Finns. With the Lidwicings I was with, and the Leons and the Longbeards, and with heathens and heroes and the Hundings. With the Isrealites I was with, and the Exsyringians, and with the Hebrews and with the Indians and with the Egyptians. With the Moides I was with, and the Persians and with the Myrgings (and with the Mofdings against the Myrgings!), and with the Amothings. With the East-Thyrings I was and with the Eols and with the Ists and the Idumings. And I was with Eormanrice for some time, for there the Goth king strove to be good to me; that founder of cities passed over to me an ornament, which was worth six-hundred in pure refined gold, were the treasure portioned in a count of shillings. This possession I gave to Eadgils, my protecting lord, when I returned to my dear home, and there he passed over to me some land in my father's native country, such was the grace of this ruler of the Myrginga. And then to me Ealhhild, that noble queen and daughter of Eadwine, gave another ring. This so that her pleasant praise would extend through many lands, and thus I in song sang the praises of her, wherein under the brilliant [sky?] I told of knowing this great woman ornamented with gold and dispensing gifts. This with Scilling I declared in a clear voice for the benefit of my noble lord and in great song. Loud and noisy was the harp that made me sound melodious, and afterwards many men of noble spirits spoke to me, that of all the songs they were acquainted with, it was never in song better proclaimed.

(Lines 109-134) After that I passed through the entire realm of the Goths, seeking companions that were of the best variety; such was the household of Eormanric. Hethca I sought and Beadeca and the Herelings, Emerca I sought and Fridla and the East Gotans -- wise and good, that father of Unwen. Secca I sought and Becca, Seafola and Theodric, Heathoric and Sifeca Hlithe and Incgentheow. Eadwin I sought and Elsa, Aegelmund and Hungar, and that stately company of the With-Myrgings. Wulfhere I sought and Wyrmhere; often there foul conflict was not given up, for that quick army was harsh with sword around Vistula-wood where, wearily they shielded their old country from Attila's people. Raedhere I sought and Rondhere, Rumstan and Gislhere, Withergield and Freotheric, Wudga and Hama; not that these comrades were the worst, though I place them last in this song. Often from that group hissing in flight yelled the spear at fierce enemies; pressing their rule to the gilded gold of men and women, where Wudga and Hama. So therefore I found at festivals out there on the cart, that he who is the most beloved to country-dwellers is one who is good to his strong heroes whilst he posses his land, as long as he here lives."

(Lines 135-143) Thus it is the course of bards to shape and to change into words the splendor of men through-out the many lands, profiting from what they say and speaking words of glory, while traveling South or North they meet recounting wisdom and giving praise in front of those retainers set up before their authority. Their fame grows until all departs, light and life together; he works for this glory, for beneath the heavens this glory is permanent.

The Dream of the Rood

Time to reclaim some of my old work. First up, a translation (circa 1991) I made of the Anglo-Saxon poem "The Dream of the Rood". Strangely, I’ve recently found out that this translation is still being used in Anglo-Saxon literature classes, 20 some years after I wrote it.

The Wikipedia entry for this work can be found here.

Also included is a prose version of the verse translation. I don't believe that version has ever been posted to the 'net. I forget why I did it, although I seem to recall that at one time I had delusions of trying to translate all of the Anglo-Saxon poetic corpus with the intention of perhaps submitting it for publication.  Of these two translation versions, I think I prefer the verse translation, although the prose translation may be a little easier to understand.

PERMISSION IS HEREBY GRANTED to reproduce this translation, so long as the following conditions are met: 1) It is to be used for classroom or other educational purposes; 2) That it is not to be reproduced for profit; and 3) That the translation be properly credited to its translator, namely me (Douglas B. Killings). If you have any questions about reproducing this work, you may contact me at DeTroyes@sbcglobal.net.  Thank you!

—DBK

*****

Originally written in Anglo-Saxon, circa 8th to 9th Century A.D.

Author unknown, although the work is sometimes attributed to the Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf, of whom nothing is known except his name.

Certain lines of the poem are also inscribed on an Anglo-Saxon runic cross, known as the Ruthwell Cross. The cross (about nine feet tall and made of stone) is thought to date from about the middle of the 7th century. It is not known if the poet was quoting the cross inscription, vice versa, or even if both are quoting from an unknown (and now lost) third source.

This work survives only in a codex known as The Vercelli Book, so-called because it was found in a monestary in Vercelli, Italy.

This translation is based on the edition of B. Dickens and A.S.C. Ross, (eds.), "The Dream of the Rood" (Methuen, London, 1937).
 

The Dream of the Rood
 

Verse Translation

Behold! The best of dreams I shall tell,
what I drempt in the midnight,
after mortal men upon couches dwell.
It seem to me that I perceived a rare and wondrous tree
extending on high a surrounding light
alit the wood brightly. All that beacon was
covered with gold; jewels studded
lovingly at its Earthan base, while likewise there were five
upon that shoulder-span. Behold there the Angel of God,
lovely through-out eternity. There was not an evil criminal on the gallows,
but it was at He there gazed the Holy Spirits,
men throughout Earth and all this glorious creation.
Wondrous was that Victory Tree, and I the sinner guilty
and badly wounded with stain. There I observed the glorious wood
adorned with garment that beautifully beamed,
garnished with gold; with it gems stood
covering splendidly the Lord's tree.
But nevertheless through that gold I understood
the wretched ancient struggle, when it first began
bleeding on the right side. I was with sorrow disturbed,
frightened for this stunning vision. Saw I that brilliant beacon
then change garment and color: sometimes with moisture soaked,
drenched in flowing blood, sometimes with treasure still adorned.
But nevertheless I there lay a long time I took
sorrowfully gazing at the Saviour's tree,
until then I drempt that it spoke;
beginning with these words the tree did decree:
"A long time ago-- yet still I remember--
that I was cut down from the edge of the timber,
and removed from my roots. Powerful fiends there held me off,
for a spectacle to make, command me a criminal to aloft.
I on their shoulders these men bore up the top of a hill to plant;
fastened there amid enemies aplenty. Then I saw the Lord of mankind
hasten with great zeal that he would on me climb.
There I did not dare to break God's word
and bend down or break, though I felt the tremble
of the Earthan surface. I might have been able
upon those fiends to fall, yet I stood stable.
"Then the young hero did disrobe -- that was God Almighty --,
strong and resolute; on the wretched gallows he did ascend,
bold and courageous as many observed for mankind's past he would amend.
Tremble did I as the hero embraced me; but yet I dared not bend,
and fall to the Earth's surface, therefore I stood firm.
A cross I became; lifted up with the mighty King,
the Heavenly Master; but yet I dared not bend.
With dark nails they pierced me: on me the scars are visible,
the open and malicious wounds. For him I dared not, so
no one did I injure. Mocked they us
both together. I was all with blood sodden
from the side of the Hero after his spirit was ceded.
Much ridicule on that hill did I experience
with this cruel event: The God of Hosts
hideously stretched out. Darkness had now
covered with clouds the Lord's corpse,
and its shining radiance; A darkness went forth,
black under the clouds. Weep all creation,
lament the King's fall: Christ was on the Cross.
"But then there hastened many from afar
to that Prince: I beheld it all.
I was with sorrow troubled, so bowed I did to the hands of men,
with great humility. They then took the almighty God,
and removed him from that bitter punishment. Left me then those warriors
sprinkled with blood; all badly wounded with spears.
They laid him down weary of limb, and at his head they stood;
gazing there at Heaven's Lord, as He there rested,
exhausted from his bitter struggle. A sepulcher they began to build
before the eyes of His tormenters, carved out of the brightest of stone,
there the Victorious Lord was placed; then they began a sorrowful dirge,
as evening time came. Afterwards they went
wearily from the glorious Prince; there he rested alone.
Even so there we wept a good while
standing afixed, after which departed
the warrior. His corpse grew cold,
that lovely body. Then men chopped us down
to the Earth; that was such a terrible event!
They buried us in a deep pit; but there the Lord's servants,
discovered us, [raised us from the grave,?]
and girded me with gold and silver.
"Now you may have heard, my dear beloved man,
of the deeds of evil men I have experienced,
sore and grievous they are. But now is the time
that I be revered far and wide
by men throughout the Earth and all this glorious creation,
should pray to this beacon. On me the Son of God
did suffer; for that I gloriously now
tower under heaven, that I might heal
each and everyone that shows awe of me.
Of old I was once the most bitter of tortures,
hated by people, until I showed him life's path
properly opened, before mortal man.
Behold, me the honored glorious lord
above all the trees of the forest, the Guardian of Heaven,
just as His mother, Mary herself,
almighty God all men
honor above all of womankind.
Now I do command, my dear beloved one,
that you this vision tell to man:
reveal the word that it is this glorious tree,
on which almighty God did suffer
for mankind's many sins
and Adam's misdeeds of old.
Death he there tasted; yet the Lord arose again
with his great power to help man.
He then to Heaven ascended. To here again
on this Middle Earth shall come to mankind
on Doomsday the Lord himself,
almighty God, and with his Angels,
that we will adjudge, using that power of judgment,
upon each individual as to their past lives here
in this fleeting life to prepare.
Nor may there any be not afraid
for the words that the Lord may say:
He shall ask before the multitude where is that man,
who in the Lord's name would take death's
bitter taste, just as He did before on the tree.
But they then shall be afraid and few will imagine
what to Christ they can begin to say.
Of no benefit then for anyone to be very frightened
if Him in their breast they carry this select of beacons,
and by virtue of the Cross shall come to the Kingdom
of Earth each and every soul,
to with the Lord desire to dwell."
Prayed I then to the tree in joyful spirit,
with great zeal, and then there I was alone
in small company. It was by my heart
urging on forward, the many experiences
do I long for. It is now my life's joyous hope
that I the Victory Tree may be allowed to seek
and moreover that all men,
eagerly honor it thus: it is my desire that
I grow great in spirit and that my hope of protection
is proper to the Cross.
Although I do not have many powerful
friends in this world, for they have left from here
and departed the worldly joys, and sought the wondrous King,
who lives now in Heaven with the Heavenly Father,
where they dwell in glory, so I look forward
each day to the time when my Lord's Cross,
which here on Earth I had earlier beheld,
will from this fleeting life carry me off
and bring me then there with great bliss,
the heavenly dream, there with the Lord's people
to be with always, there in perpetual bliss,
and I then shall live there ever after and allowed to
dwell in glory, with the Saints
and in joyful bliss. I shall be the Lord's friend,
who here on Earth did suffer once
on that gallows tree for man's sins:
He redeemed us and gave us life,
and a heavenly home. Hope has been renewed
with blessings and with bliss for those who endured the fire;
the Son was victorious on that journey,
powerful and successful, that he left with a large
army of souls to God's kingdom,
the Ruler almighty, to angelic bliss
he brought all the souls and came to Heaven
to dwell in glory, and that the Lord came,
the almighty God, there to his homeland went.


Prose Translation

(Lines 1-12) Behold! The best of dreams I shall tell, that I drempt at midnight, after mortal men where asleep in their beds. It seemed to me that I saw a rare and wondrous tree, which extended on high and surrounded by a light which lit the wood brightly. All of that beacon was covered in gold; jewels studded lovingly at its Earthan base, while likewise there were five upon the shoulder-span. Beheld there the Angel of God, being lovely through-out eternity. They did not behold an evil criminal on the gallows, but it was at Him did gaze the Holy Spirits, as well as men throughout the Earth and all of this glorious creation.

(Lines 13-17) Wondrous was that Victory Tree, and I the sinner guilty and badly wounded with the stain of sin. There I observed the glorious wood adorned with garments that beautifully beamed; it stood garnished with gold and gems covering splendidly the Lord's tree.
     
(Lines 18-23) But nevertheless through that gold I could perceive the ancient struggle of the wretched ones, as it first began bleeding on the right side. I was disturbed by sorrow, frightened by this stunning vision. I then saw that brilliant beacon change garment and color: sometimes with moisture soaked, drenched in flowing blood, sometimes with treasure [still] adorned.

(Lines 24-27) Nevertheless, I laid there a long time, gazing at the Saviour's tree, until I drempt that it talked. Beginning with these words the tree spoke:

(Lines 28-34) "It was a long time ago (yet I still remember) that I was cut down from the edge of the forest and removed from my roots. Powerful fiends there took me off to make of me a spectacle, commanding a criminal to loft into the air. On their shoulders these men bore me up to the top of a hill; fastened there amid enemies plenty. Then I saw the Lord of mankind come to me with great zeal, so that he would climb on to me.

(Lines 35-38) There I did not dare to break God's1 word, so I did not bend down or break, though I felt the Earth's surface tremble. I might have been able to fell2 those fiends, but I stood my ground.

(Lines 39-56) "Then the young hero disrobed (this was God Almighty); strong and resolute, to the wretched gallows he ascended. Beings bold and courageous as the many observed, he would redeem mankind's past. Tremble did I as the hero embraced me; yet I dared not bend and fall to the Earth's surface, so therefore I stood firm. A cross I became, lifted up with the mighty King, the Heavenly Master; but yet I still dared not bend. With dark nails they pierced me: on me the scars, the open and malicious wounds, are still visible. For Him I dared not break, so I did not injure anyone. They mocked us both together. After his spirit left the body, I was sodden with blood from the side of the Hero. Much ridicule on that hill I experienced with this cruel event, with the God of Hosts hideously stretched out. Darkness had now covered the Lord's corpse and its shining radiance with clouds. A darkness went forth, black under the clouds. All creation wept and lamented the King's fall: Christ was on the Cross.

(Lines 57-77) "But then there hastened to that Prince many from afar: I beheld it all! I was troubled with sorrow, so I bowed with great humility and courage to the hands of men. They then took the almighty God, and removed him from that bitter punishment. Left me then those warriors, all sprinkled with blood and badly wounded with spears. Weary of limb, they laid him down and at his head they stood, gazing there at Heaven's Lord as He rested there, exhausted from his bitter struggle. A sepulcher was constructed under the very eyes of His tormenters, carved out of the brightest of stone, and there the Victorious Lord was placed. Then, as evening time came, they began a sorrowful dirge. Afterwards, they went wearily away from the glorious Prince; there he rested alone. Even so many there wept a good while, afixed, after which the company departed. His corpse, that lovely body, grew cold. Then men chopped us down to the Earth; that was such a terrible event! They buried us in a deep pit; but then the Lord's servants discovered us,  [raised us from the grave,] and girded me with gold and silver.

(Lines 78-94) "Now you may hear3, my dear beloved man, of the deeds of evil men that I have experienced, sore and grievous they are. But now is the time that I be revered far and wide by men throughout the Earth and all this glorious creation, and should pray to this beacon. On me the Son of God did suffer; for that I now gloriously tower under heaven, that I might heal each and everyone that shows reverence of me. In olden times I was once made the most bitter of tortures, hated by people -- until I opened up for them life's path properly for mortal men. Behold, me the glorious lord honored above all the trees of the forest, the Guardian of Heaven! Just as He honored His mother, Mary herself, above all of womankind for the sake of men.

(Lines 95-121) Now I do command, my dear beloved one, that you tell this vision to man: reveal in words that it is this glorious tree, on which almighty God did suffer for mankind's many sins and Adam's misdeeds of old. Death he there tasted, but the Lord arose again with his great power to help man. He then ascended to Heaven. To this Middle Earth again He shall come to mankind. On Doomsday the Lord himself, almighty God, with his Angels He will adjudge, using that power of judgment upon each individual as they merited in their past, fleeting lives here did prepare them for. Nor will there be any afraid for what words the Lord might say: He shall ask before the multitude where is that man who, in the Lord's name, would take death's bitter taste, just as He did before on the tree. They then shall be afraid and few will imagine what they can begin to say to Christ. It is of no benefit, then, for anyone to be very frightened if with Him they carry this select of beacons in their breasts; by virtue of the Cross shall come to the Kingdom of Earth each and every soul which desires to dwell with the Lord."

(Lines 122-156) I then prayed to the tree in joyful spirit and with great zeal, and then I was alone. With my heart urging me on forward, there are many experiences I have longed for. It is now my life's joyous hope that I may be allowed to seek the Victory Tree, more than all men, to eagerly honor it thus. It is my desire that I grow great in spirit and that my hope of protection is proper to the way of the Cross. I do not have many powerful friends in this world, for they have left here, departing the worldly joys and have sought him the wondrous King, so their lives are now in Heaven with the Heavenly Father dwelling in glory, so I look forward each day to the time when my Lord's Cross (which here on Earth once beheld) will from this fleeting life carry me off and bring me there to great bliss, the heavenly dream, and to be with the Lord's people always in perpetual bliss. I then shall live there ever after and allowed to dwell, along with the Saints, in glory and joyful bliss. May the Lord be my friend, who here on Earth did suffer once on that gallows tree for man's sins. He redeemed us and gave us life and a heavenly home. Hope has been renewed, with blessings and bliss for those who endured the fire; powerful and successful, the Son was victorious on that journey and left with a large army of souls to God's kingdom, the Ruler almighty. To angelic bliss he brought all those souls and came to Heaven to dwell in its glory, and after the Lord came, the almighty God, went to his homeland.

Adric, Matthew Waterhouse, and the Fannish Gestalt

The following was originally posted by me more than 12 years ago. While much has changed since its last revision (who’d have thought that a new series was then a little less than 2 years away?), I’ve recently had a few requests to repost it as many feel the points it raises are still quite relevent.

I suppose the good news from the intervening decade is that it is no longer considered odd for fans (both old series and new) to confess that they liked Adric, and that in some ways Mr. Waterhouse himself has recently enjoyed something of a renaissance with fandom. I like to think that this essay played a part in that re-assessment, but in truth, if so I think it was probably a small part. But while the reasons for why this essay was written may no longer be relevant, the topic of fandom intolerance certainly is —perhaps even more so than ever in this internet, Twitter, blog-driven age.

In answer to a question I am periodically asked, I have no idea if Mr. Waterhouse has ever read this piece, or even knows of its existence. I know it was posted for many years on a (now defunct) website, so odds are it might have been noticed at one time or another. But beyond that I can only speculate. But if by some odd chance Mr. Waterhouse might stumble upon this posting, let me at least take the time to say this:

Thank You, Sir. For everything.

—DBK

First Posted: 31 May 2000
Revision Date: 9 October 2003
Please send commentary to:    DeTroyes@rcn.com    DeTroyes@sbcglobal.net

The following is my opinion only, mostly written to get it out of my system. I welcome constructive discussion and commentary. I view this piece as a living document, i.e. one that will probably be revised and periodically rewritten as time and new thoughts occur to me, or as I am persuaded by other arguments. I would really appreciate some commentary on this, as I think some of the issues raised should be talked about and discussed in the open.

I would like to thank Vicki Griswold, Diane Brendan, Bradley K. Willis, Clive May, Heather Smith, William December Starr, and all the others whom I've talked to over the years about this subject. Here's to bringing some sanity back to the fold.
 

*****

"Sancho, my armor!"

"Oh no, Master! You're not going to..."

"Yes, Sancho... I must. No one else is willing to speak up, so it is up to I!"

"But... but, you know what happened the last time you did this, my lord!"

"Yes, Sancho, I know... My email account was spammed and online friends stopped writing. But still, it must be said... there must be some sanity brought to the world."

Sancho thinks: You're one to talk.
 

Adric, Matthew Waterhouse, and the Fannish Gestalt

an opinion by Douglas B. Killings

I liked Adric.

There. I've said it. Possibly three of the most despised words in all of Doctor Who fandom. In some corners, worse than the appellation "Doctor Who Sucks", and even infinitely more appalling than that other three-word outrage, "British Broadcasting Corporation".

For those of you who are presently choking on their coffee or trying desperately to hit the back button on their browser, let me repeat this statement in smaller, more easily digestible chunks:

"I": The nominative case singular of the personal pronoun indicating the first person;

"Liked": The past tense of like, to have a favorable opinion of something or someone;

"Adric": Proper name. A companion of the Fourth and Fifth Doctors. Also known as "the little creep" and "that damn annoyance".

This is not a typo. This is not an error. This is an actual and truthful statement by a long time fan of Doctor Who -- an adult of some 35 years (god, has it really been that long?) who is married, has one darling three-year old daughter, two gorgeous baby boys, two cats, a job, a car payment, and a mortgage. One who is currently trying to slug his way through the entire range of original novels (just polished off "The Last of the Gaderene"), who has been known to set his Windows opening music to a wav of the entire original theme, and who even periodically spends valuable free time dashing off odd bits of fan fiction. In short, someone who is a typically rabid fan of a television series that has been a part of his life for almost as long as he can remember.

Yet, because I say that I liked Adric, there seems to be a perception that I am somehow different, that I am somehow atypical, merely because I profess an opinion that differs from much (if not most) of DWfandom. It is in the conversations I have with other fans, sometimes in the responses to newsgroup posts I make, in the chat rooms that I occasionally drop into, even periodically in the email I receive. It is an attitude that considers me peculiar and somehow defective in my fandom, as if hating Adric were one of the litmus tests of whether or not you were a "true" fan of the series. In extreme cases, it is a belief that says my attitude is somehow threatening to the entire integrity of DW fandom, that by merely mentioning this I was somehow undermining the entire Doctor Who universe, no doubt to be followed by the heinous crime of (horrors!) advocating a resurrection of the dead and forcing everyone to dress in banana suits at the next con.

Why is this so?

What is it about Adric that makes this reaction so vehement?

Why is it that Doctor Who fans tend to find this unacceptable, or at the very least, uncomfortable?

And, most importantly, what is really wrong with liking something out of the ordinary, especially among a group of people who are themselves out of the ordinary?

*****

I know why it is that I started to like the character.

Let's set the Way-Back machine a little bit. Let's go back to 1981, and to the living room where the television sat. It's late Sunday night, and the channel is set to WTTW Channel 11. Dave Allen at Largewas just ending, and another "new" (as in, I hadn't seen it before) episode of Doctor Who was about to begin.

There I am, sitting in front of the television set. I was 16 at the time, soon to be going on 17, but that was a few months yet away. I had already started collecting and reading Target and Pinnacle novelizations, and was eager to see another new installment of this show. After all, I'd been watching it nearly religiously for some years already.

The episode started, and this time the adventure was set on a planet populated by the descendants of a crashed star liner. There were also these marshmen and... well, you get the idea. You all know the story, so why repeat it here? Suffice to say I was enjoying the tale as I always did, knowing that no matter how strange the situation was, the Doctor would sort it all out in the end.

But something odd happened in that story. There was this character. At first I didn't think there was anything important about him, just one of the usual walk-on parts that have populated the series for as long as I can remember. This one was teenaged, young, male, intelligent, slightly headstrong, and (to my mind) reasonably likeable. Ok, not an especially stellar resume; "Horns of Nimon" had a similar set of characters, so his existence was hardly unique. But then he did something that wasunique, something completely unexpected; at the end of the story, he stowed away aboard the TARDIS, and became a companion.

I was suddenly intrigued. And glued to the TV. I could hardly wait for the next week's episode, possibly with more anticipation than I ever had at any time previously.

It took me a couple of stories, but eventually I realized what it was about this character that made me react so. I knew this guy. I knew him because I went to school with him every day. He was the kid who sat next to me in home room and read Heinlein; he was the guy in the computer lab working on the TRS-80 trying to get Star Trek to work right; he was the guy at the comic shop I used to talk with for hours, discussingX-Menand SpiderMan and speculating on whether or not Darth Vader was really Luke's father. And yes, he was the guy I saw in the mirror in the mornings, cleaning himself up for another day of High School.

He was the first character I ever saw in the series who acted and felt like the people I knew, like those who were around me. So what that he was awkward, clumsy, and had terrible sartorial tastes; that pretty much described most of my peers, myself included. So what that he was just a little arrogant and a touch immature; show me a 16-year-old who isn't. So what that he was woefully in over his head most of the time and wasn't entirely competent; that's called inexperience, and off hand I'd say 99.9% of the teenagers of the world would fare no better or no worse in the same situation.

Adric felt and acted like a real, living, 16-year-old to me. I never knew Sarah-Jane Smith or Leela or Romana or the Brigadier or any of those people as anything other than reasonably interesting fictionalcharacters. I knew Adric, though. I felt I knew him for what he was. He was arrogant enough to hide the lack of self-confidence, idealistic enough to not notice when he was making a big mistake, unsure of himself and still trying to figure out who the heck he was and what he wanted. He wasn't handsome, he wasn't suave, he was basically unformed. He was all of this, and yet was still lucky enough to get to visit neat places like Traken and Logopolis and whatever that castle was in "Warrior's Gate". Lucky bastard.

After watching "Logopolis", I went away thinking that he was quite possibly in the best position of any companion to date in the series in terms of future potential. There were so many possibilities, so many ways that the writers could take the character, that I genuinely thought he was the most exciting development to come in a long time. I fully expected that, before he left the series, they would let him grow up and come of age.

Of course, we all know that didn't happen.

Don't get me wrong; I have no objection to killing off main characters. One of my favorite series of all times is Blake's 7, which ends quite appropriately with everyone blown away in a Hamlet-like catharsis. Ditto the anime film Arrivaderci Yamato, where the only survivors are the secondary-characters while all the main cast gets blown to kingdom come. But Adric's death was different; it never sat well with me, and has continued to gnaw away as one big missed opportunity.

I didn't actually see "Earthshock" until almost two years later, but by then I had already heard much about it. When I actually did watch the story, I was intrigued right up until the very end. Adric's death left a bad taste in my mouth. I'd known beforehand that Adric would die in the story, but actually seeing the way it happened made me appalled. It was all flashy and melodramatic, but ultimately pointless (which, come to think of it, is a pretty accurate epitaph for the entire JNT era). What made it worse was the way the Doctor reacted in "Time Flight"; I just could not see him reacting this way over the death of a friend, and the fact that he was doing so was so totally out of character (or at least, for my interpretation of the character) that I was left with a queasy feeling in my stomach. This was not the Doctor Who that I'd grown to love.

It was soon after that I first became aware of the general fan reaction toward Adric. It was at a Doctor Who Con, and I just happened to opine that I didn't particularly like the way that Adric had been written out. I said it in an off-hand manner, really as a throw-away comment in a conversation concerning broader topics. Yet, it immediately became the centerpoint of discussion. "What do you mean you didn't like it?" one person asked me, apparently quite incredulous. "What do you mean you likedhim?" another sputtered. "I thought it was the best thing that ever happened." "I stood up and clapped." "I thought the character got what he deserved."

"What the hell do you mean you wish they'd find a way to bring him back? We want him to stay dead!!!"

It was amazing how, by making one off-hand comment, I could so immediately polarize a group and dominate the topic of conversation. There was no middle ground among them: everyone there hated Adric, and hated him with a passion unmatched by anything I'd seen before -- and that included the passionate debates about which Doctor was the best and whether or not JNT was God or the Devil. I had inadvertently touched a raw nerve, and now saw for the first time a reaction that I found rather bewildering. And, as time went on, frankly troubling.

*****

Almost from the moment I first saw Adric's fiery demise, I began to try to concoct his rescue.

You have to understand that I did this all the time with the shows that I loved. At that time I was also reeling from the experience (and trust me, it was an experience!) of watching the end of Blake's 7 for the first time, so I suppose resurrection of the dead was on my mind. I remember too that I was just beginning to get interested in Japanese anime and manga, and so somewhere along the way the idea of crossing Doctor Who and anime came together. OK, a pretty lame-o idea, but I thought "What the hell?", and proceeded to start coming up with story ideas. A few I even started writing. I viewed them as thought experiments, ideas with which to take my mind off my studies, commuting, or whatever it was that I'd rather not be doing. Most of them, quite frankly, looked a lot better at age 20 than they do now at age 35.

Along the way, I continued to watch Doctor Who fandom's view of Adric, looking for any sign that my first experience in this regard was an aberration. It wasn't. If anything, it grew worse. Long time fans were openly dismissing him, new fans were joining on the bandwagon, often without ever having actually watched the episodes in question. Adric was fast becoming the character to hate, the commonly acknowledged dreg at the bottom of the barrel. And as before, there was no middle ground: you had to hate him, if for no other reason than because everyone else did.

"Why?" I once asked a fan.

"Because he was annoying and whiny and argued with everyone." was the essential reply.

"What about Tegan or Turlough? Do you like them?"

"Well, yeah. They were great..."

Go figure.

One particular person stands out in my mind. She appeared to be late 20's, slightly overweight, and had a fixation on Turlough. We happened to be discussing fanfiction at a con, and the subject of story ideas came up. By now I'd grown pretty wary of discussing my views on Adric with Doctor Who fans, as I just didn't want to have to explain over and over again ad nauseam my reasons for liking the character. But somehow in the course of our conversations, the fact that I was contemplating a story where Adric gets rescued slipped out, and much to my chagrin the tone of the conversation shifted dramatically.

The woman grew livid.

Without wanting to hear the particulars, she immediately pounced on the idea with all the abandon of a lion moving in for the kill. The idea was stupid, she said, and dreadful. And was somehow detrimental to the spirit of Doctor Who (huh?). Adric was a creepy little moron that should never have been allowed in, and killing him was the best thing they ever did, and how dare you suggest that bringing him back would be a good thing. It would destroy Doctor Who if the character was resurrected, and anyone who did so was an asshole and didn't understand the show and you'd better damn well not do it because you'd be playing hell with something she loved.

I mumbled something, grew quiet, and slinked away.

The conversation stuck with me for weeks after. Was I somehow wrong, I thought? Was there something I was missing? What was it that everyone was seeing that I wasn't? Sure he had his problems as a character, and sure his role in Season 19 was less than stellar, but surely it wasn't worth all the vehemence and bile that was being directed toward him? He was a character, after all. A fictional construct. Someone that didn't really exist. What was it about him that made him so universally reviled, so thoroughly despised, that a grown adult would feel a need to vent anger at a would-be writer over his mere mention?

And then, in a moment of epiphany, it struck me.

The woman felt threatened by Adric.

It was the only explanation that fit. Somehow, someway, this particular person felt personally threatened by the mere idea of the character's existence, as if killing him was the only way to make her feel absolutely secure. It was the only thing I could think of that fit the facts. She had acted as if I was committing an act of extreme, heinous heresy -- and what was more, was worried that by doing so perhaps I could convince others to join with me in my apostasy. She didn't want Adric back; she found the idea deeply anathema, at odds with the world she wanted to believe in. Adric -- snot-nosed, incompetent, rather innocuous little Adric -- was a direct menace to her self.

*****

After this, I began to watch Doctor Who fans closely, and started to notice a pattern.

Those that really, really, vehemently hated Adric tended to be slightly arrogant, a little whiny, and more than just a little argumentative. In other words, rather like the character they hated. But what was really striking was the way that they all tended to be just a little bit immature themselves. It showed in a lot of ways -- the way they acted, the way they talked, the way they argued, the way they discussed differences of opinion. They wanted to believe they were right, and often had a hard time accepting the idea that maybe there were others with differing viewpoints.

It was then that I realized that my original assessment, that Adric was a lot like the average 16-year-old that I remembered being, was all too true. The problem was, Adric emphasized the teenaged aspect all too well. And as been pointed out by me and others before, people generally do not like it when mirrors are held to their faces.

Most of us do not like to admit that we are fallible, that we have faults. We prefer to believe that we are suave and confident, peerless and without flaws. We have the picture of James Bond in our heads, when in reality Ralph Kramden is probably closer to the truth. We generally don't want to believe that we are capable of being boorish or obnoxious, even when we are being so. It doesn't fit into our psyche, so when we are confronted with the truth we have a universal tendency to shy away from it, to want to ignore and deny the evidence. And when that evidence is presented before us in a manner that is hard to ignore, our natural reaction is to hate and despise it, or at the very least wish it to disappear.

At the core, this is I believe what happened to Adric. Adric's big problem as a character was that he tended to emphasis all the negative aspects of being a teenager. Growing up is difficult enough without having to be reminded of all the things you did wrong; to have a character based on this premise is practically a recipe for disaster. Adric exposed our insecurities, and did so in a way that left little room to deny. Faced with itself, fandom chose to hate the messenger, and then rejoiced when the messenger was no longer there to remind them of who they once were. Adolescence was over; there was no need or desire to revisit that awkward time.

It is a pity, therefore, that Adric was killed off. In my opinion, he had the most wasted potential of all the characters in the history of the series. It would have been nice to see him grow up and shed some of those self-doubts, to reach adulthood under the tutelage of Doctor-sensei, and to come back maybe in a few years to see what kind of a person he had become. My guess is, he wouldn't have been all that different from you and me. In the end, we all grow up. The person we are at 16 is very rarely the person we are at 26, and even more removed is the person we are at 36. It would have been nice to see this happen, to show that adolescence isn't all that bad, that even the most obnoxious teenager can grow up to be a decent person. Instead we are left with a symbol of that uneasy moment in our lives, and rather than acknowledge some truths we shy away and wish it would just vanish. Or, as the case may be, get blown away to smithereens.

*****

A lot of the blame for Adric's failure as a character has been laid on the shoulders of his portrayer, Matthew Waterhouse. He was stiff, they complained; his facial expressions were rather limited, and he did that thing with his hands constantly, especially when he was trying to act excited. Then there was that high-pitched voice of his, grating on the nerves.

I recently spent a good deal of time re-watching old Doctor Whoepisodes. It happens when you have twin babies and don't have much else to do while watching them. Just to make sure my memory wasn't playing tricks on me, I hauled out all of my old copies of Seasons 18 & 19, and watched every story that I still had. In particular, I wanted to see how well (or badly, as the case may be) Matthew Waterhouse's performance stacked up to the test of time. And lo and behold, I found my memory had not been colored by the years.

Yes, I admit it, Waterhouse was not the best actor. But yet, I think it also must be pointed out that this is Doctor Who we're talking about, not Shakespeare. Even at his worst, Waterhouse's acting abilities do not strike me as being any worse than any number of performances in the series, either previously or since. Especially since. True, there were low points. "Four to Doomsday" and "The Visitation" are to my mind the least inspired. But there were also high-points; even the harshest Adric critic will generally admit that he wasn't bad in "Keeper of Traken" or "Logopolis", and in "Earthshock" he gets downright good. In short, his range in performance looks no different to me than any other half-way talented person who somehow found their way onto the show. Watch some of those old black-and-whites sometime, and tell me if I'm wrong. Go ahead, do it. Got a name for you: Dodo Chaplet. See? Told you so.

To accuse Matthew Waterhouse of stiff acting strikes me as rather like singling out a single tree in a forest, and accuse it of being wood. The charge may be accurate, but it ignores the context.

True, the most talented actors can make even the worst part theirs and eke some mileage out of it, and Waterhouse's failure to do so does speak volumes for his inexperience. But yet, I think in all fairness one must look objectively at the task Waterhouse was being asked to do; the problem, I think, was not in Waterhouse but in the character itself. As has been pointed out by others (including the authors of Doctor Who: The Unfolding Text), no one with the possible exception of Christopher H. Bidmead (Adric's creator) had a clear idea as to who Adric was. In one story he'd be a mathematical genius, in the next he'd be a brain-dead idiot; in one story he'd be relatively competent, in the next bumbling and ineffectual. He could throw a knife with deadly accuracy in "State of Decay", but blunders his way into the hands of a Tereliptl android in "The Visitation". From story to story, it was often almost as if he were a different character.

If you examine Waterhouse' tenure closely, you notice something about the characters' basic traits. Up until "Castrovalva", Adric is more or less consistent in some basic ways: he is earnest although inexperienced, friendly, rather helpful. He readily does whatever the Doctor asks of him, and does so without complaint. He even, as in the case of "Keeper of Traken", provides valuable aid in finding a way to defeat Melkur/The Master. But starting with "Four to Doomsday", the character starts to undergo a radical shift. The whininess sets in. He becomes more petulant and argumentative. And then there is that whole food thing. In short, most of the characteristics that Adric has been reviled for start to come prominently into play at this point in time.

The difference, I think, is Eric Saward, the script editor for the series from "Four to Doomsday" on. Christopher H. Bidmead, the previous editor, seems to have had a better idea as to what he wanted in the character, and took steps to make certain some degree of coherency was maintained. Not so Saward. If Bidmead had only a vague idea as to what he wanted, Saward seems to have had none, and as a result Adric becomes wildly unfocused for the remainder of his tenure. The idea, it seems, was to inject some characterization and differentiation among the cast. The problem was that if Saward did not have a clear idea as to what he wanted, Waterhouse was left with only the very core background to fall back upon, that of a young, headstrong teenager. The combination proved fatal for the character, in more ways than one.

Now to be fair, Saward was tasked with almost a herculean task himself, that of trying to juggle four separate main characters in a series format that works best with only two. One Doctor and three companions may have worked well in the sixties, when seasons were forty- some episodes in length and stories often went to six episodes apiece. But in the eighties, with smaller seasons and far shorter stories, finding something for everyone to do can be almost an impossible task. Many of the stories in Season 19 were written originally with the expectation of only two companions; now suddenly, three companions had to share the limelight, and it seems that much of what should have gone to Adric instead went to Tegan and Nyssa. What was left was a vague attempt at characterization that, for a variety of reasons, could not be made to come off in the tight confines the series suddenly found itself in, coupled with a very limited ability to use the character in the first place. As a result, Adric as a character was gradually marginalized and consequentially suffered. I have no doubt in my mind that, had there been one less companion running around in Season 19, Adric would not be as reviled as much as he is today -- Waterhouse's acting abilities not withstanding. But this is only conjecture, and irresolvable conjecture at best.

Suffice to say, then, that I think the evidence suggests Waterhouse cannot be blamed entirely for the character's failure, or arguably even mostly for it. Factors were stacked in such a way against the character that I do not think even the best actor could successfully overcome them. Yet, Waterhouse continues to receive the lion's share of JNT-era fan criticism, even downright hatred. For what? That he had the misfortune to play a poorly thought-out character on a series that has a history of mediocre acting?

*****

Let me say before continuing any further that much of what I am about to say has been gleaned from conversations with other fans, from reading newsgroup posts, attending fan gatherings, and from years of just watching from the sidelines. Although I do like to attend conventions, I have not been to a Doctor Who-oriented convention in almost a dozen years, and unless I suddenly get a lottery windfall the likelihood is that this trend will continue for the foreseeable future. Thus, some of the following probably would be considered, as my lawyer-wife would insist, as nothing more than hearsay and therefore of dubious accuracy, although I for one am confident of its veracity. Make of this what you will.

But be that as it may, there can be no denying that Adric and especially Matthew Waterhouse have become the whipping-boys of Doctor Whofandom. Tasteless websites have been offered up to (dis)honor him, pro-Waterhouse posts on Rec.Arts.DrWho have been routinely met with derision and ridicule, and authors of generally pro-Adric fanfiction have been flamed and sent derogatory, anonymous email (I've even got one up on my website!). I know of no person in any other fandom to which such consistent vehemence has been expended upon against them, and that includes diatribes against the likes of Will Wheaton/Wesley Crusher and Carl "Scissors" Macek. Clearly, the two still touch raw nerves, even after all the long years that have passed.

I have heard stories of Waterhouse being heckled at conventions, of so-called fans going up to him and telling him in no uncertain terms why they hated him and his character, and of people in general being more obnoxious and disrespectful toward him than any other actor in the history of the series. His name is routinely greeted with boo's and hisses at mere mention, and he is frequently seen as the butt of many (sometimes vicious) jokes. On the anarchy that is the Rec.Arts.DrWho newsgroup, it is considered a serious breach of protocol to wish death upon the most obnoxious and virulent troll, but wishing death upon Matthew Waterhouse is considered a national sport.

What is wrong with fandom? Why is it that we continue to perpetuate this? Why do we have to constantly put something/someone down, simply because some don't like them? To make us feel better about ourselves, to count ourselves lucky that there but for the graces go I? Were it one or two isolated incidents I wouldn't be writing this. However, this is hardly the case. Go to any gathering of Doctor Who fans and just mention the names of Adric and Matthew Waterhouse, and see how quickly the shit starts to fly. It has now sunk to the point that it has become such an underlying feature of the sub-culture that it self-perpetuates, with each new generation that enters emulating those that have come before them. Objectivity has all but evaporated; in it's place are long-standing prejudices and an irrational hatred for someone who did nothing more than to land an unpopular role on their favorite TV series.

Does any of this justify the level of personal vitriol that is routinely leveled against him?

Keep in mind, most of these stories were filmed almost 20 years ago. Every report I've read about recent Waterhouse appearances indicate that he's matured as both a person and an actor. The most oft-mentioned comment is that he's "surprisingly warm" in person, and a few have even boldly stated that he had a better presence on stage than some of the regulars (!). Clearly, Waterhouse has changed over the years.

So why can't fandom change with it?

The problem, I think, is that it doesn't want to. It seems to want to vilify Waterhouse as a sort of boogey-man, someone that it can always have around to sneer it's nose at. Long after there was any purpose, long after there was any meaning. Keep kicking that doggy, because it's fun, there ain't no way he can respond, and it makes us look a whole mite taller. Yep, that's the ticket.

Bullshit.

It's wrong. It's flat-out wrong.

*****

And what of the Adric-fans themselves, those few souls brave enough to admit they actually liked the character? Stop laughing; there are more of us out there than you would be appalled to admit to.

When I started posting my fanfiction, I began to receive email from other fans who felt as I did that Adric was being overly-maligned. Almost universally, the comment from them was "I thought I was the only one who thought that way about him." Many reported some variation of the same experiences I'd had: fans who dismissed them and their views, or who argued with them vehemently against the character, or even just being obnoxious and condescending merely for the crime of liking something the greater group-mind did not. I heard from fans who admitted to being moved by his death (including one now housewife and mother of two, who says she cried for days), a fair number that wanted to discuss (sometimes passionately) why the character and actor weren't complete wastes, and even one or two who still "carried the torch" as it were, and wondered if there was ever a chance the character could be brought back. Adric-supporters I have heard from include owners of graphics arts corporations, systems admins, game designers, engineers, and even the former managing editor of Sky and Telescope. People have named their pets, their computers (including a number of web servers and at least one big corporation's primary SQL server!), and even their gaming personae after him. At Microsoft, there was once a Windows NT subgroup called the "Application Development, Research, and Integration Crew", and DeLaSalle University has the Advanced Research Institute for Computing (which they refer to as "AdRIC"), a Linux think-tank.

For a couple of people who are supposedly the most universally-reviled in Doctor Who fandom, Adric and his portrayer seem to enjoy a fair degree of underground support, much of whom had absolutely no knowledge that they were hardly alone.

If you were to believe mainline Doctor Who fandom, such a thing should not be possible. But yet there we are, hiding in the fringes, nooks and crannies. Fans who stubbornly persist in bucking the trend, who ignore constant pressure to conform and persist in believing something they know others don't. They sit there, sometimes afraid to come forward because they are afraid of what others will say, or because they do not want to put up with the mindless attacks and other problems that go along with stating that they do not agree with the majority. In the extreme, some gave up and just dropped out of Doctor Who fandom altogether.

And this is a shame. It is a shame that they should have to hide their beliefs or their ideas; it is a shame that thoughtless barbarians are allowed to set the agenda; it is a shame that uncouth and boorish behavior is not only sanctioned but encouraged, where ever mainline views meet offline dissent; it is a shame that some fans feel they must abandon Doctor Who altogether, merely because they find that their particular set of preferences are not accepted by the greater.

We can do better than this. We MUST do better than this.

This isn't just about whether or not Adric was a good character, people. This is about tolerance. This is about tolerance of other ideas, of other interpretations. But most of all, it is about the tolerance of other people. Like the best of mythos, everyone sees what they want in Doctor Who; everyone comes away with their own interpretations, their own likes and dislikes. No two are ever quite alike. Neither do they always compliment each other.

Adric-fans may get the most extreme treatment, but they are by no means alone. On the map of unpopular fan-views, we have those who despise the novels, those who like other unpopular companions (Mel, Peri, even the previously slighted Dodo), or just those who take unpopular stances (X is not really canon, etc.). Just having these views should not invalidate the person who has them. Yet, the fan collective-conscience consistently demands that it does.

Any group that does not allow the free admission and absorption of new ideas is destined for stagnation and decay. Rather than alienate those with unpopular ideas, we should be embracing them, welcoming them with open arms. Not denigrating, ridiculing, or otherwise dismissing them. It is said that every generation re-evaluates the assumptions of the old, and remolds them to new thinking and new ideas. There is nothing wrong with having a dissenting viewpoint, or even a popular one; only in refusing to acknowledge that others have a right to their views.

I admit that, by and large, most fans are generally well-behaved, good, open people who wouldn't dream of attacking someone else. But yet despite this, we have somehow cultivated a mind-set that encourages a set rule of thought, and heaven help anyone that dares to disagree with those rules. Either consciously or unconsciously we as a group are enforcing that mind-set, trying to imprint it on all who seek to enter our realm. It cannot continue; it MUST NOT continue. We must learn to give others the same courtesy and freedom we expect them to give us. Whether they agree with the same things as we do or not, it is wrong to force those preferences on others, it is wrong to condemn people for believing differently. No other fandom I am aware of deliberately sets out to alienate segments of its population so, nor goes to such lengths to burn the heretics in its midst.

Doctor Who fandom must change.

*****

Episode #4 of "Earthshock" was first broadcast in February of 1982. Since that time we have had three U.S. Presidents, three U.K. Prime Ministers, a handful of wars, the odd recession, the rise of the internet, and the fall of evil empires. Bill Gates went from being a nobody to the richest man on the planet, the map of Europe was redrawn dramatically, and my favorite television show was cancelled. Twice.

Eighteen years. That's a long time. A person born on the day Adric died would be entering university now. Eighteen years; a very long time.

Time enough, I think, to give it all a rest.

So this is what I propose.

I probably will never be able to convince you. You almost certainly will never be able convince me. Let's just agree to disagree, and move on.

Everyone is different. Not everyone has the same background, not everyone has the same life experiences. If you think Adric was an annoying little creep who deserved to get blown up, fine; that's your belief. I disagree, but that doesn't mean I think your viewpoint is any less invalid than mine. All I am asking is that my beliefs, no matter how contrary they are to yours, be treated on the exact same footing. Not ridiculed, not dismissed out of hand, just accepted. The same goes for every other fan out there who may harbor thoughts and preferences different than yours or mine. We may disagree, but that does not make us any less of a fan. It is wrong to assume that any one viewpoint is absolute; it is even more wrong to actively push to suppress those views.

And as for Matthew Waterhouse, lets just give the guy a break. Like it or not he's part of the show's history, so fandom should stop regretting that fact and just accept it. There are better, more important things for us to gripe about than old news, like the fact that we haven't had a real series in twelve years. If you didn't like Waterhouse's acting, fine; you're probably right on some level, but again there are a number of people who will disagree with you. But whatever the case, it does not excuse asinine, nasty behavior. Whatever his faults, the guy deserves at least a modicum of respect for contributing to something most of us hold dear.

I guess I'm an eternal optimist; I still hope (even if it is a distant hope) to one day pick up an Eighth Doctor Adventure and find a rescued Adric in the story, or to buy a Big Finish Doctor Who Audio CD with Matthew Waterhouse's name in the credits. Yeah, I know; it's not likely to happen in this continuum. But that doesn't mean I still can't hope. Likewise, I can also hope that Doctor Who fandom as a whole can grow up just enough to acknowledge it's responsibilities. We are the keepers of the torch; if we alienate ourselves, we threaten our continued existence and hence the future of our purpose as fans. This hope, at least, is probably a more likely one to achieve.

Is it too much to ask of us?

Is it?

--DBK

31 May 2000

A Fourth Moon for Pluto

A fourth satellite has been detected orbiting dwarf planet 134340 Pluto (formerly known as just the planet Pluto) by the Hubble Space Telescope.

The object, bearing a temporary designation of just P4, appears to be a ball of ice roughly 8 to 21 miles across.

Yet another target for the New Horizons spacecraft to photograph when it flies through the Plutonian system in 2015.

History With Google Streetview

Gambetta Street, Rheims, France. Early color photograph, taken April 1, 1917, taken from the fantastic website World War I Color Photographs:

Gambetta Street, Rheims, France, from Google Streetview, photograph taken 2011:

Note that the house next to "Pizza Uno" (marked Bar Cafe, Chez Ali Restaurant) in the 2011 photograph is the same house at the same corresponding street corner in the 1917 photograph (note the upper story windows and chimney; they are exactly the same).

Here is a better view of the Chez Ali house and the three buildings to the left of it, as they stand today:

"Pizza Uno" looks to be the same building as the one in the 1917 photograph, but with an extra story added (note what appears to be part of the old roof just below the grayish "addition", at approximately the same height as the roof of the 1917 house).  The building to the left, "Rheims Khabob", does not look much like the building in the same position in the 1917 photograph, and in fact looks much newer.  The fourth house, "Pain Chaud", looks likely to be the same building at foreground left in the 1917 photograph, but since the view of that building is cut off in the older photograph there's no way to say for certain.

Just a little something I like to do whenever I find old photographs of street scenes, namely try to find the exact same view in Google Maps and see what they look like today.

Look for more of these in the future.

42 Years Ago Today

Tranquility Base, Luna:

EDIT:
While we're on the subject, Rand Simberg at Pajamas Media about why the next phase of space exploration should be driven by private enterprise.

Dawn Reaches Vesta

NASA's Dawn spacecraft has reached the asteroid 4 Vesta and has gone into orbit.  Before going into orbit, it snapped this photograph of the main belt planetoid:

Dawn will continue to orbit Vesta for the next year, then break orbit and proceed to its next target, the dwarf planet 1 Ceres.  A decent rundown of the mission can be found here.

The Return of the Native

Yeah, its been a while.  No excuses about why I stopped blogging, not even going to try to justify it.  Maybe I'll talk about where I've been and what I've been doing these past few months, or maybe not.  I don't even know how long I'll be doing it this time around.  I guess we'll see.

Communism's Nuremburg (City Journal)

Guy Sorman at City Journal (a blog which, I must confess, I had not heard of until now) has a very interesting piece on the trials of Communist Khmer Rouge leaders, currently going on in Cambodia.

What the Khmer Rouge brought to Cambodia was in fact real Communism. There was no radical distinction, either conceptually or concretely, between the rule of the Khmer Rouge and that of Stalinism, Maoism, Castroism, or the North Korean regime. All Communist regimes follow strangely similar trajectories, barely colored by local traditions. In every case, these regimes seek to make a blank slate of the past and to forge a new humanity. In every case, the “rich,” intellectuals, and skeptics wind up exterminated. The Khmer Rouge rounded up urban and rural populations in agricultural communities based on precedents both Russian (the Kolkhozy) and Chinese (the popular communes), and they acted for the same ideological reasons and with the same result: famine. There is no such thing as real Communism without massacre, torture, concentration camps, gulags, or laogai. And if there has never been any such thing, then we must conclude that there could be no other outcome: Communist ideology leads necessarily to mass violence, because the masses do not want real Communism. This is as true in the rice fields of Cambodia as in the plains of Ukraine or under Cuban palms.

He also observes:

Nazism’s trial took place in Nuremberg beginning in late 1945, and Japanese fascism’s in Tokyo the following year. But until now, we have had no trial for Communism, though real Communism killed or mutilated more victims than Nazism and Fascism combined. Communism’s trial has never taken place, outside the intellectual sphere, for two reasons. First, Communism enjoys a kind of ideological immunity because it claims to be on the side of progress. Second, Communists remain in power in Beijing, Pyongyang, Hanoi, and Havana.

To this I would also add a third reason: Communism still enjoys a fair degree of support among certain prominent intellectuals, though they now tend to cloak their leanings in other terms to disguise their ideology. Nevertheless, Revolutionary Marxist and Communism have never gained the stigma that Fascism and Nazism have in our culture, even though history has proven them to be a far deadlier strain of Totalitarianism. By all rights Stalin, Lenin, and Mao should be as reviled by the world as Hitler is today, as synonymous with notions of evil as Auschwitz is. I find it appalling that twenty years after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the opening up of Eastern Europe, we are still ignoring its murderous legacy and giving a pass to its atrocities.

Karma Bites Communist Professor On The Ass

William Ayers, the retired University of Illinois at Chicago professor who was also a Weather Underground radical, has been unanimously denied Emeritus status by the University of Illinois Board of Trustees.

The reason?

It seems that the chairman of the U of I Board of Trustees is one Christopher Kennedy. His father was a certain Robert F. Kennedy. The same Robert F. Kennedy who, on June 5 1968, was cut down by a bullet fired by Sirhan Sirhan. The same Sirhan Sirhan who, in 1974, William Ayers partially dedicated his book Prairie Fires to.

From Christopher Kennedy's statement:

"[I cannot in good conscience] confer the title to a man whose body of work includes a book dedicated in part to the man who murdered my father."

Paybacks a bitch, ain't it?

EDIT:
This gives me a good excuse to post this:

Yamato, Hasshin!

More live-action Space Cruiser Yamato trailers have been released. This is looking really, really cool!