Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

by Sladen, Elisabeth

  But I remember how excited I was stepping in there for the first time. The door closed and the importance of what I was about to do suddenly hit me. It was a massive moment. I was entering that funny blue box as Lis Sladen but I’d be emerging as Sarah Jane Smith.

  Thrills aside, there was still work to be done. After all the build-up I couldn’t wait to get inside and enjoy a few moments cut off from the outside world – and especially Jon on his bloody shooting stick! There was no light, and it was cold. In fact, it seemed the perfect place to gather one’s thoughts. But I could hear the voices outside and the longer I stayed in there, the more nerve-wracking it got. Then I heard someone call for quiet. Even Jon’s gaggle of fans hushed. I took a deep breath, focused on what I had to do.

  ‘Ready, Lis,’ a voice said.

  Here we go.

  ‘And action!’

  * * *

  Normally, I don’t suffer from nerves but the sense of relief when that first scene was in the bag was palpable so I must have been quite tense beforehand. But from that moment on, I knew I would never have a problem: I’d broken my duck and I knew my character. Now I could just enjoy myself.

  I must say, I had a ball – I think everyone did. It was a really low-key shoot but there was a lot going on. Bromly certainly didn’t hang around with reshoots. And I really loved the physical stuff. The Time Warrior was a good old-fashioned adventure and I was thrilled when I saw I’d be doing as much running and jumping and fighting as Jon. It was very feisty for me. Where I get scooped up by Bloodaxe and dragged into the castle like a rag doll I was really fighting him. It was great and I’ve had lots of letters over the years from fans who’ve detected the fact I yelled a very Scouse-sounding ‘Gerroff!’

  I’m actually rather sad that I can’t do as much rough stuff these days because you can achieve so much with body language. As a dancer and theatre actor, you’re very aware of the unspoken communication possible through the body – a fact I think a lot of purely television actors seem oblivious to. And I’m such a fan of the silent film era, D.W. Griffith and the like, that if you look closely at those moments where I’m being manhandled across the courtyard, I swear I was channelling Lillian Gish in Broken Blossoms.

  There was actually a fight co-ordinator for that scene, although there wasn’t much he could teach me on this particular occasion. Terry Walsh was a stunt man and Jon’s double for the more dangerous scenes; he would also do the same job for Tom. On top of that, if there was a part requiring a man in a helmet then Terry usually got those as well. Check the credits of my Who serials and count the different characters he plays! You never knew where he was going to pop up next.

  I became great pals with Terry over the years. He saved my life at least once – which I’ll tell you about soon – and spared me countless broken bones and twisted ankles (although not all of them!). Because any companion of the Doctor spends so much time running, and because I was lucky enough to be comported in heeled boots for most of it, if I ever needed to run down a path Terry would say, ‘I’m just going to move Lis’s stones!’ Then he’d come over and tell me, ‘I’ve cleared a path – keep away from the right-hand side.’

  Once I’d seen how physical the part was going to be I made the decision that Sarah would attack each hurdle with gusto. In a way, that part of her character wrote itself. I really tried to put a stamp on it, though, by showing she was as much of a swashbuckler as any man – or Time Lord. I’m not sure I quite nailed other aspects of her character. Considering she’s meant to be a journalist, Sarah nearly missed the biggest scoop of her life – the fact she’d gone back in time! Despite sneaking up on bowmen and watching the locals run around wearing Lincoln green, the best she can gush is, ‘Oh, it must be some sort of pageant!’

  Any more subtle character development, I decided, would have to be attempted back in the studio the following week.

  Jon was great fun to act alongside because he adored all the rough-and-tumble as well. He was a big man, very physical, and he brought a lot of his personal get-up-and-go to the role. The Third Doctor’s Venusian aikido came in as a direct result of Jon’s willingness to get his hands dirty and show off his sporty side. I was acutely aware of him leading me around those opening performances, which was fine. Bromly just went along with it. By now, I understood that that was how the relationship had to work.

  We had one terrific scene where we needed to flee the castle. Irongron’s men were trying to shoot us with futuristic rifles supplied by Linx. Our effects guys wired up boxes of explosives in the ground to be triggered remotely as we passed nearby.

  ‘How nearby?’ I asked Peter Pegrum.

  He laughed – we had a lot of giggles over the years. ‘Don’t worry, Jim Ward’s in charge and he’s the best special effects guy in the business.’

  When I was introduced to Jim I couldn’t help noticing he had only one eye.

  ‘OK, I admit, he made one mistake,’ Peter said. ‘But he’s never going to make another one!’

  A scene like that is hysterical. Those squeals are genuine. You don’t need to act at all – it’s pure reaction as each bomb goes off, nearer and nearer. I’d never done anything like it – and I loved every second.

  We were in Peckforton for a few days and mostly the weather stayed dry. When it did rain, though, without a trailer or any other vehicle, we took to getting changed in the church attached to the folly. It may have been a fake castle but there was nothing false about the vicar. I was getting changed one morning, leaning against the altar and struggling to pour myself into this ‘authentic’ archer’s costume that Jim had created, when I heard this ‘Oi!’ ring out. I don’t know where he appeared from but the vicar was standing there, red in the face, indignant as could be that I was showing my smalls so brazenly in a house of God. That was me banned, rain or not.

  Not everyone was so easily offended. The American family who were renting Peckforton at the time – I think they were attached to the US Airforce – invited all of us to a meal on our last night. That was very charming of them, so we all rushed to the hotel for a wash and a change, then jumped in taxis to get back there. Don’t ask me how, but I ended up perched on Jon’s knee for the duration of the drive.

  ‘What have you got there?’ he asked, spying the Tupperware pot on my lap.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, just a little salad. I was raised never to turn up empty-handed.’

  ‘A salad!’

  Jon’s face lit up with wonderment. For that second he was a child again, full of wonder, bombarding me with questions about my recipe. When he heard I’d added mustard, it was like all his Christmases had come at once.

  ‘You put mustard in your salad as well? So do I!’

  Of all the things to bond over! Seriously, I really think we connected on that journey. It was just one example of the incredibly sweet side to Jon that I would see so many times over the years.

  Actually, if I took one thing from my first experience on Who, it was the genuine camaraderie among the whole team. It was truly the nearest I got to being back in rep in Manchester, where I’d had the happiest time of my life. There were some amazing people on that crew. I’m sure it was just another job to most of them, but it certainly didn’t feel like it as they were willing to go that extra mile, put in the extra hours, sweat blood for the show.

  Some of them took the teamwork too far, I realised, when I finished a scene and sighed, ‘I could murder an orange now.’ Half an hour later Robin Stubbs appeared next to me – clutching a bag of Jaffas.

  ‘There you go, Lis.’

  I was dumbfounded.

  ‘Where did you get those from?’

  ‘The shop,’ Robin replied. ‘In town.’

  I must have looked pretty vacant.

  ‘You asked for some. It’s my job to get them.’

  I’ve never felt so ashamed – I couldn’t apologise enough but Robin just kept saying it was his job to look after the stars. Well, that simply made it worse. I didn’t feel like a s
tar. In fact I didn’t want to be one, I never had: I wanted to be an actress, that’s all. And if that meant fetching my own oranges, it was just dandy.

  It took me a while to get used to being looked after like that. I remember getting a similar shock when I worked with David Tennant on School Reunion. It was another rainy day – that’s Cardiff for you – and this kind fellow held out a brolly for me. I thought, Oh, the perks of being part of a successful series! As I went to take it, he wouldn’t let me.

  ‘No, this is my job, Lis,’ he said, and just stood there holding it for me.

  I must admit, I find those things a little easier to accept these days, but before any accusations of ‘pampered star’ rain down – excuse the pun – you can bet no bugger would lift a finger if we weren’t so important to a given day’s filming. An unscheduled return to hair and makeup after a deluge could be the difference between finishing on time and on budget, or not.

  I don’t know if it’s my old ASM training but as soon as a break was called I found myself naturally gravitating towards the areas staffed by Jim Acheson and the makeup team. I’ve always been much more comfortable among the crew. It’s a calmer place – and, to be honest, I learned over the years that they were often the only ones who had chairs and, occasionally, a roof over their heads!

  By the end of the week I’d made so many friends that the idea of a long coach ride home didn’t seem so daunting. On the contrary, there was an end-of-term feel in the air and everyone was in a party mood. The plan was to head off as soon as the last scene wrapped (so as not to waste licence payers’ money on another night of hotel rooms). I was lugging my bag towards the coach with Robin, Peter and the rest when I heard a car horn toot. When I looked around there was Jon leaning against this beautiful Lancia.

  ‘Lissie, you’re coming back with me!’

  Am I? Thanks for asking, I thought. But I said, ‘How kind, Jon.’

  OK, I’m going to sound a bit catty but I really didn’t fancy travelling with him at all. I was tired, I was looking forward to curling up on a seat on the coach, maybe having forty winks, then joining in with whatever high jinx were occurring. Besides, I saw it as a valuable bonding session – everyone would be there.

  Except me.

  Jon, of course, thought he was doing me the greatest favour. Why slug your way back to the Smoke on a clumsy old charabanc when you could travel in style with the star of your show? I’m sure a lot of people would agree with him but, you know, it would have been nice to have been given a choice.

  Trust me, though: there was no choice. Resigned to the way of things, I humped my case into the boot and climbed into the passenger seat.

  ‘Here you go,’ Jon said, tossing a map onto my lap. ‘You can be navigator.’

  Oh joy, I thought. I came up by train for heaven’s sake and was picked up by coach. I haven’t got a clue where I am now.

  Jon was already manoeuvring the car. ‘Is there anything behind us?’ he asked, before slipping it into reverse.

  I didn’t even look up from scrutinising the map.

  ‘No.’

  Off we shot, backwards at top speed – and crashed straight into the props van!

  I have to say Jon took it incredibly well. He loved his cars and the Lancia was his latest pride and joy. After a quick inspection of the damage he clambered back in and we set off. This time he didn’t ask me for any help.

  For quite a while we spoke about the show and how proud Jon was to be part of such a TV institution. He was happy I was aboard as well. We were going to have fun, he promised. Then as the miles passed and Manchester became a mere dot on the map, the mood in the car changed. Suddenly I went from navigator to Mother Confessor. He poured out the whole story: how much he’d enjoyed working with Katy Manning and how it had broken his heart when she’d quit the show.

  What was I meant to say to that? I just thought, Oh God, please, I don’t want to know.

  Just like on the first night, no sooner had he sunk into a depression than he snapped out of it. Spotting a sign for a service station he suddenly chirruped, ‘Lunchtime, Lissie,’ and swung in. Of course he was dressed flamboyantly as the Doctor and so heads turned everywhere we went. And to everyone who came up to speak to him, he said the same thing: ‘This is my new assistant.’

  It was so embarrassing. No one could have cared less about this stranger staring back at them – I could have been the bag lady for all they knew. I just thought, No, Jon, people don’t want to know. Just take your bow and leave me alone!

  The rest of the journey passed in a blur. I’d already heard too much so we chatted about the industry. He’d said it before but he repeated it then: ‘If I can do anything for you, Lissie, just ask.’ And he really meant it. Such a kind man, he really just wanted to help.

  That was 10 May 1973. My first day in the studio was not until the 28th so I had a fortnight to really get to grips with the scripts and my character. I just prayed I’d be allowed to do so without interference.

  * * *

  The filming sequence for Doctor Who back then was extremely regimented. But what did I expect when the whole place seemed to be filled with ex-military men? Serials in those days ran for four or six episodes, with the odd aberration. Episodes were recorded in pairs and for every pair we had ten days, working ten to five, to do everything: rehearse, technical rehearsal – where lights and camera positions etc. are worked out – costumes, record. It sounds a long time but actual filming hours were in extremely short supply. If we had a four-part serial, we filmed four days. Six days for a six-episode story. No time at all, when you think about it.

  Rehearsals took place at the Acton Hilton in one of their vast rooms, working through each show sequentially as that’s how they would be filmed. I have to say, it was an exhilarating atmosphere. There was a great energy in the room – in the whole building, in fact – and the sense of creativity was almost tangible. The BBC in the 1970s was a tremendously fertile place to work. The talent on show was immense.

  Of course there were the odd teething problems. Having joined the cast late and missed out on the table read-through, I’d gone up to Manchester cold, needing to make friends from scratch. A lot of the cast and crew hadn’t been required for the location scenes, of course, so now I had to be introduced as the new girl all over again.

  I don’t like to bring up gender issues because there were as many women acting as men, and yet, I have the feeling that had I been a chap joining, there’d have been a tad more respect thrown my way. As it was, I was perceived as the latest in a long line of ditzy girls employed to scream ‘Doctor!’ every five minutes, which, I felt, was all that certain people wanted to see. No one apart from Barry and Jon really knew what I’d done in the past. All that went completely under the radar and assumptions were made about my ability – or lack of it. I remember later saying to one person who’d tried to position me for a scene rather than describing what he wanted, ‘Oi, hands off! I’m not a Dalek.’ Patronising really isn’t the word. (Actually, yes it is – it’s the perfect word.) Unfortunately this wasn’t something that disappeared with the first episode. A constant turnover of directors, crew and production personnel meant I repeatedly encountered new people who assumed I’d been hired from a modelling agency and not from a background of twenty-odd years, girl and woman, on the stage.

  Fitting in back in London was a lot easier with Jon there to show me the ropes, although even that seems, on reflection, to be just another example of the casual sexism on the show at the time. He was almost giving me his blessing, like the thumbs-up he’d originally given Barry, but to some people that blessing counted for a lot.

  Replacing an established character like Jo Grant was quite a hard nut to crack. I had to win over not only an audience used to watching Katy, but the actors accustomed to working with her. You get to know how your co-stars act after a while, you can predict their moves or mannerisms, and a certain shorthand creeps in, but all that disappears when a newbie turns up. Then it’s ba
ck to the drawing board for everyone.

  Doctor Who in those days could be a bit of a boys’ club, I think it’s fair to say. A lot of my predecessors were written to be supplementary to the action. I needed to shoehorn Sarah Jane into the action as quickly and firmly as possible – and that had to start with the boys of UNIT (the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, you know) who acted as Earth’s military response to the threat of extra-terrestrial invasion.

  Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, Captain Mike Yates and Sergeant Benton were a familiar, well, unit by the time I arrived. From what I gathered, Yates had had some romantic interest in Jo Grant. I didn’t want Sarah Jane to go down that route because it would disempower her but boyish flirting would be OK, as I demonstrated when the Doctor was ignoring me in Invasion of the Dinosaurs.

  The only one of the triumvirate I met at Acton on my first day was the Brig, played so clinically by Nick Courtney. He’s a great thinker, is Nick, often off in his own world. Over the course of our time together I didn’t think I’d actually got to know him that well at all, so it was such an unexpected bonus when he joined us on The Sarah Jane Adventures for The Last Sontaran to discover just how much we knew about each other. When you’ve worked so closely you build up a joint history, shared memories. It was really moving to catch up and realise we both experienced the same things. I can only liken it to a band on tour or an army battalion in the field. When you return to everyday life there are things you can never share with anyone other than those you’ve served with. And that was what it was like seeing Nick again. Magical.

  Jon and Nick were very tight but complete opposites. Where Jon was flamboyant, Nick was so reserved you’d think he really was military top brass. Jon loved trying to prick his veneer. Once we were doing a camera rehearse and he whispered, ‘Let’s try to make the Brig laugh.’