Saturday, October 17, 2026

The Doctor Who Production Diary - 2. The Troughton Years, by David Brunt

Photograph of the huge, 774-page book The Doctor Who Production Diary - 2. The Troughton Years, by David Brunt
This engrossing, 774-page brick of a volume details the day-by-day production of Doctor Who in the late 1960s, when Patrick Troughton was the Doctor. It follows the magnificent first volume in perhaps even more exhaustive detail, covering the period Monday 18 April 1966 (when ‘significant’ changes to Doctor Who were mooted, which surely included the recasting of the lead character) to Monday 4 August 1969 (and the issuing of an audience research report on reactions to the final episode of The War Games). I have delighted in every page.

A lot of histories of Doctor Who tend to focus on one given story at a time. Brunt’s approach coveys the dizzying chaos of multiple stories being in different stages of development all at once. Seeing things presented in this way sparks a lot of new thoughts and connections.

For example, The Evil of the Daleks was broadcast as the final story of Season 4, the last episode airing on 1 July 1967. After a summer break, Season 5 began with The Tomb of the Cybermen, the first episode broadcast on 2 September. That gap, I think, helped to hide the fact that these two consecutive serials, recorded back to back, have a number of similar features. The Doctor visits the planet of his enemies and meets a larger-headed leader version whose plan is to brainwash humans. The Doctor defeats the villains but, in the closing seconds of the final episode, we see that something survives… 

That surely can’t be a coincidence, so I suspect story editor and co-writer Gerry Davis consciously sought to mirror the Dalek story in what he wrote for the Cybermen. Something similar then happened in a subsequent Cybermen story, The Invasion (1968), in which the villains are seen stalking around landmarks of London, mirrors something similar in The Dalek Invasion of Earth (1964).

Another connection I’d not made before is that the first approval to wipe an original videotape recording of Doctor Who (boo, hiss) was issued on Thursday 9 March 1967 (p. 198), two days ahead of the broadcast of Episode 1 of The Macra Terror, which debuted a new title sequence. It’s boggling — to me — to think that the videotape archive of Doctor Who remained complete for the entire span that the original title sequence was in use. The wiping of episodes and the commissioning of new titles are also both, I think, signs of a production team looking forwards, not back — at a time when they were also jettisoning what had once been a fundamental part of the series format, stories set in the past. It is all part of a consistent mindset.

As with the first volume, I must declare an interest in that I liaised a bit with David Brunt as he assembled this extraordinary compendium. Especially with the later bits, we scrutinised many of the same sources as I worked on my imminent biography, Written by Terrance Dicks. We discussed and debated various points where the sources aren’t entirely clear, and he read over my draft chapters and caught some of my more glaring errors.

As he explains in the introduction here, his approach has been to work chiefly from the BBC paperwork held at the Written Archives Centre in Caversham — his list of the files there that he looked through takes up two whole pages (pp. 771-2). From this, he lays out, as objectively as possible, what happened on what date. Along the way, he makes a number of shrewd deductions to tackle discrepancies in the primary sources or to plug gaps in the record. 

Even so, his emphasis is on evidence from documentation. Where no documents survive, he is warier than me of using things said in later interviews by cast and crew. For example, there are several accounts that script editor / associate producer / producer Derrick Sherwin organised a screening or screenings of the Quatermass serials from the 1950s for himself and his team (Terrance Dicks and Trevor Ray) ahead of commissioning the first Doctor Who stories involving the new Earthbound format. In discussing that with Brunt, we think this must have taken place in late December 1968 — but, unable to be surer than that, he leaves it out of his production diary.

There are a few instances where I disagree with his conclusions — not that he’s wrong, but I interpret things another way. For example, in his entry for Tuesday 18 October 1966, he provides a summary of an early version of Part One of The Power of the Daleks, detailing how it varies from the episode as broadcast. That surviving early script is not dated, but Brunt suggests it’s the version issued to the cast for the start of rehearsals, which began on this particular Tuesday. I think the very different and much wordier version of the Doctor in this script suggests that this is the script written by David Whitaker, before — on Friday 7 October, as detailed by Brunt — Dennis Spooner was engaged to rewrite it. I think a now-lost Spooner rewrite was used in rehearsals, prior to a final (surviving) camera script being drafted.  

Likewise, Brunt thinks “on or around” Tuesday 20 February 1968 that Terrance Dicks was interviewed for the job as assistant story editor on Doctor Who, and at the same attended the video playback of the most recently recorded instalment of Doctor Who, Episode 6 of The Web of Fear. My sense from Terrance’s own (brief, not entirely clear) accounts of what happened is that this playback was among the first things to happen once he’d been appointed.

This isn’t meant to quibble — it’s a delight to engage with this stuff and puzzle out the nuances as best we can. Brunt’s different perspective has made me look again at what I’ve come up with and in a couple of places I’ve been able to correct small details in my own book, just in time. What’s more, something here prompted a new line of thought and on Monday I’m off on a research trip to dig out what I hope will be new information for an article in DWM...

I look forward eagerly to the next volume.

Friday, October 16, 2026

Doctor Who Magazine #635

Cover of Doctor Who Magazine #635 with photograph of Sophie Aldred as Ace from the 2022 episode The Power of the Doctor and the headline "An Ace adventure!"
The new issue of the official Doctor Who Magazine is out today, and comes with a free Target novel: Doctor Who - At Childhood's End by Sophie Aldred.

In among the other treats, Chris Bentley talked to me about my forthcoming audio novel The Missing Hour, which is released next week. And on p. 8, reader Lloyd Peterson from New Jersey, USA, responds to my recent article about Star Trek. It's nice to make such far-reaching connections...

Thursday, October 08, 2026

Trailer for The Missing Hour

Sean Longmore's cover artwork for Doctor Who - The Missing Hour, showing the First Doctor, Barbara, Ian and Susan
Big Finish have posted a three-minute excerpt from my forthcoming, six-hour Doctor Who audio novella, The Missing Hour, which is due for release in full on 22 October.

To hear the excerpt, read by Barnaby Edwards, visit The Missing Hour page on the Big Finish website and click "Listen to the trailer" or "Download Trailer" just below the cover image.

Sunday, October 04, 2026

The Moonlandings, by Reginald Turnill

Hardback edition of The Moonlandings - An Eyewitness Account by Reg Turnhill, foreword by Buzz Aldrin, with cover photo showing astronaut on the Moon
I greatly enjoyed this exhaustive memoir of the US space programme written by BBC aviation correspondent Reg Turnill — a familiar face from my childhood, reporting on space stuff for children’s shows Newsround and Blue Peter. The book covers what Turnill calls the “first era of manned spaceflight” (p. 393), from Alan Shepard becoming the first American in space in 1961 to Skylab and Apollo-Soyuz in the mid-1970s.

By working from his archive of paperwork and scripts, which I suspect may include programmes no longer held in the BBC archive, Turnill provides a lot of detail about the flights themselves, and what did and didn’t go right. He tells us he couldn’t, at first, shake the hand of Wernher von Braun because of the man’s involvement in the wartime bombing of London — Turnill and his family lived in Sydenham. Over time, their relationship mellows and Turnill quotes from this own lengthy, revealing interviews with von Braun, yet remains unsure about his legacy. 

We learn, too, of the celebs at the launch of Apollo 11 on 16 July 1969: former President Lyndon Johnson, Vice President Spiro Agnew, air pioneer Charles Lindbergh, rocket pioneer Hermann Oberth and science-fiction writer Arthur C Clarke — the latter stopping by Turnill’s news desk to rehearse what he was going to say on screen to Walter Cronkite at CBS. 

We’re also told who wasn’t there — Nixon attended the launch of Apollo 12, in the cold and rain, but no others. John Freeman, former presenter of the BBC programmes Panorama and Face to Face, was now US ambassador and had been to the launch of Apollo 10. To explain why he turned down the invitation to the next one, his spokesperson responded, “When you’ve seen one Apollo launch, you’ve seen them all” (p. 231). Turnill clearly finds that indifference amazing.

I’m especially, nerdily, thrilled by all the mechanics of the TV and radio coverage, the way improvements in satellite and camera technology shaped what could be shown, and the gossip about “the BBC’s never-ending internecine warfare” (p. 389) between three of its own departments: News and Current Affairs, which Turnill worked for, and Outside Broadcasts were both based in Lime Grove, while Science and Features, led by Richard Francis and Aubrey Singer, was at Kensington House.

The different teams were instructed by the BBC’s director-general to collaborate on the Mercury 9 launch in 1963, but Turnill explains that this, “was really a victory for Science and Features, who could not now be excluded” (p. 82). Francis quickly set about organising a big TV special.

“Robin Day, newly recruited from Independent Television News to Paul Fox’s Current Affairs team, who were the principal customers for Outside Broadcasts facilities, happened to be in New York working on a political contribution to Panorama. He was told to drop everything and stand by to ‘anchor’ live TV coverage via satellite.” (p. 82)

But Day declined, knowing nothing about spaceflight, so Turnill got the gig. 

He and Francis seem to have got on well enough until October 1968 and the launch of Apollo 7. Turnill describes Francis arriving at Cape Kennedy with a “posse” of assistants and secretaries to mastermind the TV coverage, and maddening the team back in London by adopting “space-speak”: “affirmative” and “negative” instead of yes or no, “go” and “no-go” when something was or wasn’t possible. Then, on 20 December, Turnill felt it his duty to share a weather report that suggested there would be little to see of the launch of Apollo 8. Francis felt this cost them a million TV viewers on the BBC at lunchtime on Saturday 21 December (a few hours before the broadcast of Episode 8 of Doctor Who story The Invasion). Decades later, Turnill was unapologetic about what he had done:

“I had no guilty conscience even when the launch weather and the view of lift-off were spectacularly perfect!” (p. 156)

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he was squeezed out of the TV coverage of Apollo 11 the following summer.

“The reason I was unemployed at this supreme journalistic highlight of my career was that the BBC’s ‘Apollo Studio’, at Shepherds Bush for TV, and at Broadcasting House for radio, had insisted on taking over the launch coverage. The studios were packed with ‘experts’ who had to be given something to do, and once again it had been a case of ‘leave the facts to us, Reg. We’ll just come to you with the question: What’s the atmosphere at the Cape?’ Since most of the experts had never been near America’s space programme, I was well aware that they would call upon me for tougher explanations than that if anything went wrong.” (p. 234)

Turnill was clearly hurt and frustrated at being squeezed out, and annoyed by TV executives wanting him to emphasise drama — he tells us there was no real risk to the lives of the Apollo 13 astronauts (!) so is withering about Burke crossing his fingers on TV. He also says a key problem was the focus on live pictures, with better-quality colour or film images of no interest to the editors because they arrived half-an-hour later than the less good live images. The sense is that the public appeal of the spaceflights — or, in some cases, the lack of it — was shaped by the coverage on TV, which was in turn led by the prejudices of the execs. Turnill says he was “baffled” by such decisions, then adds,

“TV executives tend to have literary rather than scientific backgrounds” (p. 189).

He refers to the “experts”, in quotes, as “superfluous” (p. 261), and claims they had no or little knowledge of spaceflight, not least because they’d not been to the Cape. That’s not true of James Burke, who Turnill mentions just twice in the whole book, who pre-filmed a series of reports at different NASA facilities and was very good on technical detail. I would like to cross-check the account here with Burke’s own memoir from 2019, James Burke: Our Man on the Moon.

Turnill does not name at all the other members of the TV crew covering Apollo 11, such as Patrick Moore, Cliff Michelmore and Michael Charlton. Charlton reported from Houston, and Moore was hardly inexpert in matters of space — the Apollo astronauts made use of his maps of the Moon. So it’s a rich text, full of fascinating detail and stuff that isn’t quite as straightforward as the author makes out. I found it utterly compelling.

More of this sort of thing:

Friday, September 25, 2026

The return of Play School

Illustration of an orange house with red front door; the logo of BBC children's series Play School in the 1980s
Yesterday, the BBC announced the return of children’s TV series Play School after 38 years. The news prompted me to look out the piece I wrote in 2019 for the magazine TV Years (from the team behind TV Choice), in which I interviewed series creator Joy Whitby and presenters Carol Chell and Carol Leader. I grew up on Play School and wanted to know what it and they had done to me...

With the kind permission of editor Graham Kibble-White, here it is as published, including the pages designed so beautifully by Richard Atkinson.

Ready to play?


First double-page spread of magazine feature "Ready to play?" about Play School, written by Simon Guerrier for TV Years magazine

Generations of children grew up with Play School – but what were they learning? We spoke to original producer Joy Whitby and presenters Carol Chell and Carol Leader


INTERVIEWS BY SIMON GUERRIER
(originally published in TV Years #4 — Classic Children’s Television (2019), pp. 70-73)

Joy Whitby: ‘We were pioneers’

‘Are you an exhausted parent of a child under the age of five?’ asked Radio Times in April 1964. ‘If so, Play School may be just what you are looking for.’ The programme would, it promised, ‘use all the advantages of television to do the job of a nursery school in its own exciting way,’ and children would ‘benefit from the leading authorities on nursery education.’ Parents were assured the presenters were, ‘young and resourceful men and women, most of them with children of their own.’

If today that sounds rather worthy, Play School was revolutionary for its time. ‘Yes, we were pioneers,’ says creator and first producer Joy Whitby. ‘I started my career in radio, on the children’s programme Listen With Mother. I learned a lot from that, and then from having to write a report on Watch With Mother, which consisted mainly of puppet shows such as Andy Pandy and The Woodentops, all on film. My report was fairly critical, because there was no new thinking going into these programmes. They had that “kindergarten smile” approach, which tended to talk down to children, like saying, “puff puff” instead of “train”. The nanny we had at home talked to my boys as grown-ups from the start, and I’d seen how that helped their development.’

Joy’s insights impressed Michael Peacock, BBC2’s newly appointed Head of Programmes. ‘He also had small sons and was very aware of the dearth of nursery education for children under five. He allocated 25 minutes from Monday to Friday to serve this audience and wanted somebody to devise the programming. I was lucky to get the job.’

‘I was really starting from scratch,’ Joy admits. ‘I went to the government office overseeing young children’s education, and they directed me to Nancy Quayle, who became our consultant – everyone knew her as “Q”. She was an ex-teacher and very knowledgeable about learning through play, though the title, Play School, preceded her. Then I got Marjorie Fisher, who was an expert on picture books, and Wendy Duggan was an expert supplier of animals – I remember her house was full of birds in cages. I didn’t want to say, “I’ve got children so I know all about it.” But of course, I knew what had worked with my own, like opening up an old clock or melting soap into water to create a kind of bubble bath with a straw. All those sorts of things from personal experience I fed into the programme.’

Joy’s sons weren’t the only family members to influence Play School. ‘My husband also worked for the BBC on a programme called Tonight – sort of the forerunner of Newsnight. Cliff Michelmore famously presented that, but he was one of a team. So I set up an inter-changing roster of presenters for Play School, which had many advantages. It meant we weren’t dependent on any single person who might decide to leave, and there was built-in variety. We had the same two presenters Monday to Friday, then two more the following week. I was also keen they came from different backgrounds. Marla Landi was Italian and her English was sometimes rather broken, but her charm was what mattered. We also had one of the first black presenters for children – Paul Danquah, from Ghana.’

‘I looked for people who could bring different skills to the programme. Actor Brian Cant applied for an audition and was given a cardboard box and told to row out to sea. He improvised an imaginary fishing rod to catch an old boot full of custard. And he made you believe it, even as an adult. Then there was a play I went to because I thought an actress might be right for us. The audience was spellbound by someone else, a singer, so immediately afterwards I went backstage and asked him to be in Play School. That was Rick Jones, from Canada.’

Second double-page spread of magazine feature "Ready to play?" about Play School, written by Simon Guerrier for TV Years magazine

Carol Chell: ‘People put their children in front of the television — we were known as “25 minutes’ peace”!’

Carol Chell was in the play Pink String And Ceiling Wax when she heard, via a friend who was going out with one of Play School’s directors, about auditions. Having improvised a hat out of napkins to be worn by doll Jemima, she was given the job and made her debut appearance on 28 February 1966.

‘My first week, I was on with Eric Thompson,’ Carol tells TV Years. ‘I was just out of theatre, so it was quite a shock to be in this tiny TV studio at Riverside [in London]. Of course, I’d learned all my lines but Eric didn’t look at his script and ad libbed away. Recording was stop and start, so that was OK, but in later years we had to do it with as few stops as possible and many times just went straight through as if it was live.’ She laughs. ‘That was a huge pill without autocue.’

Even so, Carol was with the programme for 22 years, appearing in 763 episodes – more than any other presenter. ‘Yes, it overtook me,’ she says. ‘I enjoyed it so much. I still did the odd bit of theatre but my love was for the children and this very special programme. We all adored doing it and I worked with some lovely guys – it was always a boy and girl presenting each week, but the next week you came in you were with a different boy. We had such fun, which I think came across on screen.’

Joy Whitby left Play School – and the BBC – in 1967, following Michael Peacock to London Weekend Television. The format of the programme was gently revised, losing the themed days such as dressing up on Tuesdays and pets on Wednesdays. What other changes did Carol see? 

‘It was very low key to begin with,’ she says. ‘By the time I left, it was very glossy and slick, and I felt we were doing real performances – proper acting. But it was always charming, wasn’t it?’

She emphasises how much stayed the same over the years. ‘We always had that connection to the child watching: what Joy said, talking to children in an adult way with intelligence. Lots of young mums would come up and say, “You’ve taught me how to speak to my child!” There were no pre-school play groups when I started, and many parents were desperate for help. We showed them how to get the nursery rhymes and stories going. It helped when I had my own children!’ 

‘Of course,’ Carol continues, ‘we couldn’t rely on parents actually watching. A lot of people just put their child in front of the television – we were known as “25 minutes’ peace”! At one point, our producer told us to imagine we were talking to a child all alone at the top of a high-rise building. We could still make a connection, we could still involve them. “Why don’t you sing along?” I’d say, or, “You could do that, couldn’t you?”’ 

Does that mean Play School was ‘progressive’? She takes a moment. ‘I don’t know. I think we moved with the times. We certainly tried to be as diverse as possible – we’d cover Diwali, or have African storytellers come in, and later we replaced Hamble with a black doll, Poppy. And I did a course in Makaton, the sign language, and brought that into the programme. I’m very proud of that.’ 

Carol is also very proud of fellow presenter Floella Benjamin, who since leaving Play School has campaigned tirelessly for causes related to children and young people. ‘She’s our greatest ambassador,’ says Carol, ‘and that’s led to her being in the House of Lords. The stuffy old men there go jelly-kneed when they see her! And that helps her get things done – for children and for children’s television. She’s changing the world!’

Carol Leader: ‘Television can be cut-throat, but in’ Play School I was genuinely supported by other people

Carol Leader presented Play School between 1975 and 1988, and then, in the Nineties, trained as a psychotherapist. ‘I was in my early 40s, and less comfortable crawling around on the floor pretending to be a dragon,’ she explains. ‘I was also busy as an actor but as a result of being in therapy for some time, I was finding the roles I was given unfulfilling and wanted to do a job where I was myself – as my work in Play School had encouraged. Many actors go into therapy for their own personal reasons but also because the two worlds are not that different – actors are always trying to delve into their own inner world or think about different emotional landscapes for the parts they play. Personally, therapy started to pull me in a different direction. So I left acting behind.’

As a psychotherapist, can Carol explain how Play School affected the millions of young children who watched it over the years? She considers carefully. ‘I would have thought that I and the other presenters provided a relationship with each child watching that treated them as an equal, that was good fun, and encouraged and helped them to play – which is where all real learning comes from at that early age. We helped them play with toys, and to understand that they could sort out a problem by seeing how a toy dealt with it. Looking through the windows, we taught them about the real world outside.’

Carol says if she ever watches old episodes of Play School now, it seems very slow compared to modern TV. ‘But I think that was beneficial, too,’ she says. ‘A lot of children’s television today gives too easily and doesn’t invite the child to respond in return. We know, both educationally and therapeutically, that that’s important. Slowing things down creates an atmosphere that’s good for reflective thinking. Those supportive, creative experiences help to form a child’s inner world, which has a massive impact on character development. These things go very deep into a child’s psyche. If they go in in a good way, they become what in my trade we call a good “object” – held as a good experience that can help when times are more difficult, or just there as a good thing for the child. A child with bad objects or experience carries with them a very different internal world.’

So it’s little wonder that people who grew up watching Play School look back on it with such affection. ‘That’s right,’ says Carol. ‘I mean, I carry Play School in me, too. A lot of theatre and television jobs can be cut-throat and competitive, but I remember Play School as a really good experience – I was genuinely supported by other people, I felt they liked my work and that I had a contribution to make. So I hold it as a very good object. And there’s another thing in the theory: if you have a good enough experience, you don’t necessarily feel you want to hold on for ever. I got to a point in my life where I thought, ‘I’ve really loved this but I’m now getting too old.’ Play School was such a good experience I was able to leave it behind.’

See also:

Thursday, September 24, 2026

Typhoon, by Qaisra Shahraz

Photo showing paperback edition of Typhoon by Qaisra Shahraz, with stylised illustration of a woman in a flowing blue outfit in front of a cream-coloured building
Last night, I was at Chorlton Library to interview writer Qaisra Shahraz as part of Chorlton Book Festival. It was the first time we’d met in person, although we were fellow jurors a few years ago on the First Novel Award for the Writers’ Guild of Great Britain, and Qaisra has involved me in online events for the Muslim Arts and Culture Festival (Macfest). She told me in advance she would read from her second novel, Typhoon (2003), so in preparation I read that, as well as some of her short stories and a chunk of her first novel, The Holy Woman (2001), and dug through some old interviews and reviews.

Typhoon opens on a Tuesday in May 2002 in the village of Chiragpur, Pakistan, where the local qazi or judge is dying, but causes a stir by asking to see two particular women before he dies. We then jump back 20 years to understand why. In May 1982, a young woman called Gulshan is woken in the night by her husband is sneaking out of bed. Without him knowing, Gulshan follows him outside and sees him passionately embrace another woman — one she recognises as a recent arrival to the village from the city, and whose modern ways have already aroused some comment. Gulshan returns home, tells her mother Hajra what she’s seen, and Hajra goes out to see for herself. 

Soon, the local gossips have got wind of what’s going on, and it’s like a typhoon has whipped up. Hajra demands than the local qazi pass judgment… But what Gulshan and Hajra witnessed going on isn’t quite what they think…

Typhoon is a fast-moving, engaging story with lots of tension and emotion, and some great twists along the way. It involves a huge cast of different characters, and several plots going on at once. For example, there’s also the story of a rich young widow who refuses to remarry, and the strain on the qazi’s granddaughter of leaving her husband to come tend to the dying man. This means we often witness particular events from one character’s perspective, then have what we think happened challenged or shifted by someone else.

Some pivotal scenes are told very visually. For example, one key moment towards the end of the story — which I won’t spoil, but involves a woman at a well — is conveyed by describing the surface of the water being disturbed, and I had to read it again to ensure I’d understood what was happening. It’s a powerful moment, and a key one to the novel, but it’s rendered in a kind of cinematic prose.

Qaisra told me last night that this kind of thing was, in part, informed by her time working on the TV drama Dil Her to Hai (The Heart It Is), broadcast in Pakistan in 2003. Based in Manchester, she wrote the scripts in English and they were translated into Urdu by the production team, who also made some amendments and even added whole scenes to better showcase the leading actors. In Typhoon, she adopted some of the visual storytelling she’d developed in the series, but exerted more control over characters and story.

I think we can also detect some of the tensions experienced in working in TV in a particular line from the novel:

“The TV people forgot that there were people living out in the countryside whose problems and lifestyle needed to be reflected” (p. 69).

Qaisra kindly gave me a couple more of her books last night, so I’ll get to those in due course…

Friday, September 18, 2026

The Coral Bones, by EJ Swift

Three woman, separated by 250 years, are drawn to the same stretch of the Great Barrier Reef. In the present day, marine biologist Hana Ishikawa is working on a laboratory project to artificially evolve corals that will be more resilient to climate change. She also sets out in scuba gear to document the extinction of the coral out in the sea, bracing herself to dip under the water to see the damage done. Then a dead man is discovered in the water, his body painted in different colours as some kind of warning. The death creates headlines, and then the man’s widow gives Hana her late husband’s research, which includes old scientific papers about the waters where he was found, written by…

Judith Holliman is 17 when, in 1839, she convinces her father — a captain in the navy — to let her go with him on a voyage to chart the waters off northern Australia. Judith is an avid naturalist having read the books in her father’s library, but her options are limited due to her sex. How can she ever hope to be taken seriously, let alone be published? Things aren’t helped by the ship’s on-board naturalist, Mr Pook, treating her with such disdain…

And then, towards the end of the 22nd century, Telma Velasco is employed by a government agency to track down rare animals held in captivity, in a heat-ravaged world where climate mitigation is just beginning to have an impact. She is also grieving — or failing to properly grieve — the loss of a grown-up daughter in a wildfire. But then Team gets the most extraordinary tip-off…

As with the author’s When There Are Wolves Again, this is a brilliant book. Like that novel, it involves two women battling to respond to the debilitating effects of climate change, and begins in the present day and extends into the future. In doing so, it explores what we’re going to have to live through and what things might be done to protect ourselves and the environment. It is by turns devastating and full of hope. But here, there’s a third woman, writing in 1839, just after Darwin has published a report of time on the Beagle but before he’s worked out his ideas of evolution by natural selection. I think that would help win over readers who would not normally venture into sci-fi.

The three women are very different in themselves, a fact underlined by the audio version having three narrators, Anna Burnett, Brigid Lohrey and Kate Winter. The three protagonists live in very different times, facing very different social pressures. Yet all three share a passion for the natural world, a horror at its destruction, and are constrained in what they can do. It it seems impossible that any of them might have a happy ending. 

Hana, for example, is so overwhelmed by grief for the coming apocalypse, the sixth major extinction event on Earth, that she breaks up with her pregnant partner — unable to contemplate the world in which they’d be bringing up a child. Judith is on a last adventure before she is inevitably sent to London where her mother will find her a husband. Telma is so beaten up by grief and loss she can’t face her surviving family, including a new grandchild.

As the story continues, there are hints of links between these three women, and the chance to work out what became of Judith and Hana after their own accounts end, teased from clues in the later-set stories. It’s beautifully done, teasing us with pain and loss to come for these people we’ve come to like. They’re each well drawn characters, with foibles of their own: flawed humans, in the face of insurmountable odds and loss, trying to do the right thing and save something of our world. I didn’t want it to end.