The Crusade

A marvel this, that one would not believe

Had one's own eyes not seen it on the screen.

I knew it in its Target-published form;

Novelisations rarely ever matched

The skill of David Whitaker and his pen

A-dipped in poetry and high romance.

However watching this was I surprised.

I played the DVD and there did see

In Shakespeare's tongue, a play of Doctor Who.

'Twas like some kind of challenge; ne'er before

Had I imagined such a thing could be

Yet so it was, with dialogue that sang,

With rhythm, style and language unsurpassed,

With imagery to soar like angels' wings

Transforming even soldiers into bards.

Warmongering fools, as dubbed by Hartnell, still

Did please our ears with poetry on screen.

In fairness I admit one further stab

Has since been made at Shakespeare's verse in Who -

The Trials of Tara, penned by Paul Cornell

And Virgin-published through a Decalog:

'Twas funny, but a limping string of gags

Whose rhythm only bore resemblance faint

To Shakespeare's verse... pentameter, my arse.

However this Crusade did hit the mark,

I never cringed, but in its stead admired

The brave imagination and the skill

That crafted lines like this for what in truth

Could be a weekly treadmill of a show.

Such language could alone have made this great,

But furthermore its story is unique,

In quality and crazy shit alike

Both reaching such a pitch that modern minds

Might reel in wonder, both at Whitaker

And what the sixties saw as children's fare.

Part one, The Lion, feels a trifle slow,

But after that it hardly touches ground

With danger, death, misogny and knives;

Our Barbara wonders should she cut a throat

While El Akir, the villain, gets his kicks

Inflicting rape and degradation foul

Upon his womenfolk, then when he's bored

A-butchering at whim to start anew.

"The only pleasure left for you is death,"

He says, while good King Richard in the script

Did have incestuous subtext with Joanna

Until Bill Hartnell had it taken out.

All hail this crazy bastard Whitaker,

To put this in a children's teatime slot,

Before The Space Museum and The Chase.

The history has points of interest too.

King Richard isn't unrevisionist,

In character at times a spoiled brat,

Which well described the real King Richard too:

At war and schemes a master, yet with men

A diplomatic fool and full of foes,

Whose name throughout the Middle East did live

In infamy for seven cent'ries thence.

Of course the ethnic side presents a snag.

Arabian Central Casting this is not.

Worse yet, this draws attention to itself

By virtue of the story's racial themes.

And Weng-Chiang gets bashed... this story too

Caucasian actors casts in place of those

Who could have played authentically its roles.

This is a shame, and yet I like the script,

Which has great sympathy for Arab views

And Saladin does show in better light

Than reckless childish Richard Lionheart.

Spookily the real King Richard bore

To Julian Glover some resemblance,

The image on his tomb in Fontevrault, France,

Does bear some witness to this claim of mine.

At six foot four, fair-haired and handsome too,

He captured hearts and minds despite his faults.

Overall this story simply rules.

It's bloody dangerous, with shocking death

And irony, as young Sofia runs

To fetch the dagger that so nearly could

Have by the hand of Barbara slit her throat.

Part three, The Wheel of Fortune, also has

An awesome confrontation 'twixt the king

And Marsh's fierce Joanna, which deserves

The rich Shakespearian language it employs.

Part four, The Warlords, is a tragic loss

To TV archives, yet its audio

Kicks arse - especially the desert bandit.

Astonishing this is, in every way.

Again the Hartnell era breaks the rules,

Again unequalled through all Doctor Who.