Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

by Sladen, Elisabeth

  Oh, it never occurred to me to say no. I assumed the photographer knew what he was doing, I thought.

  I’ve noticed, though, I’m much more careful about these things since I became a mother – I’m far more suspicious.

  At Ealing, it transpired, I wasn’t the one with the biggest problem. We had a hilarious actor on Genesis, Stephen Yardley, who was playing a deformed mutant called Sevrin. His character had this funny arm and he used to come to lunch, dragging his limp limbs around in full costume, and howl, ‘I’m not very well!’

  An incredibly funny man – and also, it turned out, quite a timid one when it came to heights.

  We were saddled with guns and of course he had his dodgy arm, and somehow we’d scrambled halfway up the wall. Then Stephen looked down.

  ‘I don’t like this – it’s a bit high.’

  If we could have faked it on the blue screen, I think he would have been delighted.

  I put a lot of trust in our film cameraman, Elmer Cossey, who was the one calling the shots that day. I remember talking to him at Ealing that morning. Just general chit-chat, and then he said, ‘So, Lis, do you want to see your wall?’ I think he’d been looking forward to seeing my face, the little so-and-so.

  The problem with having a technical bod in charge, of course, is they’re never satisfied. The first time Stephen and I managed to fight our way up I thought, That wasn’t so hard, we’ll be finished early today.

  Not a chance.

  We spent the entire day going up and down, up and down this bloody wall. The distance between bars was just too great to be comfortable for me. Another six inches closer together and I could have managed them. As it was, I’d just get a foothold then really have to overstretch to reach the next rung. The following day I could barely lift my hands to head height.

  The only plus side of the whole experience is the end result. There was a chance it could have been another stunt that looked rubbish on telly, like my big leap in Peladon, but I think Elmer captured the scale of the place pretty well.

  * * *

  Back in the safe arena of the Acton Hilton we rehearsed as normal for six studio days, filming, largely, in episode order, plus the odd out-of-sequence bit if it saved on scenery. Maloney’s inspired idea of only having the Daleks indoors paid off. They’re pretty menacing in the right environment, aren’t they? As usual we had John and Cy but this time round, Murphy was replaced by Keith Ashley. It’s funny to think you can conquer whole galaxies with just three Dalek operators …

  As before, the Dalek boys all learned their lines for rehearsal. In the studio, however, as Michael was playing Davros now, it was Roy Skelton who took over. Roy is the master of Dalek voices, he really is. Brilliant to watch as well. He’d be in the studio, headphones on, studying the screen and acting out all the parts. When the Daleks argue among themselves, he’s just hysterical.

  One of the more threatening aspects of Genesis is the whole ‘master race’ undercurrent. I think Terry Nation originally worked a lot of Nazi allusions into the show with Robert and Philip’s blessing, although these were watered down in later episodes. (Lovely Guy Siner, who plays Ravon, would of course go on to play a rather camp Nazi in ’Allo ‘Allo!) Spotting the similarities does add that layer of menace, I think. If you’re too young or naïve to spot the allegorical references, that’s fine too.

  There’s a hint of a ‘final solution’ in Genesis, of course, which threw up all sorts of issues. The Doctor realises he has the opportunity to connect two leads and prevent the Dalek race from ever existing. Harry and Sarah urge him to act for the sake of the future universe but he can’t.

  And Tom couldn’t either.

  It was a big moment at Television Centre when, as we were actually preparing to shoot these lines, Tom just said, ‘No, I can’t do this.’

  He just stopped the whole thing. Refused to go on as it was written.

  ‘Maloney, this isn’t right,’ he called up to the gallery. ‘We need to think this through seriously.’

  To put this into some sort of context, Tom’s suggestions were often along the lines of: ‘What if there was a Mer-man sitting at my feet? Wouldn’t that be astounding?’

  ‘Er, I don’t think we have the budget, Tom,’ would be the normal excuse. ‘But thanks …’

  This time he was being deadly serious.

  ‘Think about it, Maloney. I’m the Doctor – I can’t go around wiping out entire civilisations. Do I have the right?’

  They struggled with it for ages. Tom was very uncomfortable. Rewrites were drawn up and a lot of his questions made it into the script. It was powerful stuff. Not exactly the sort of debate you find on your average kids’ programme.

  So we went from an exciting scene in a fast-flowing episode to a major philosophical discussion point, thanks to Tom.

  Over the years, of course, the Doctor has theoretically wiped out the Daleks several times (I even helped him in Journey’s End). If Philip and Robert had their way, they would have been killed off for good in 1975: neither man could stand the Daleks and I think it must have been pretty galling for them to have to work on Genesis which, like the rest of Season Twelve, had been commissioned by Barry and Terry as part of their outgoing duties.

  * * *

  Part one of Genesis of the Daleks went out in March 1975 – impressive considering we only finished shooting Episode 6 on 25 February. When you’re airing shows so rapidly after wrapping there’s a risk the end result will suffer. This one certainly didn’t. The whole serial attained, I think, a punchy realism that was hard to beat at the time. Some would argue it was too realistic. In fact, Mary Whitehouse did argue that very fact – and quite a lot more. Younger readers won’t remember Mary, but she was a campaigner for standards on television and radio. She was quite a celebrity in the 1970s and 80s, always on the warpath about the levels of sex or violence in this programme or that. Her name has become synonymous with censorship, and not always for good reasons, I think.

  In a way it was a compliment if Mary Whitehouse noticed you. Once she started her sabre-rattling about Who I thought, We’ve really arrived now. But she really went ballistic at Genesis of the Daleks. ‘Tea-time brutality for tots,’ she called it. Apparently Davros was too scary, which he was meant to be – Christ, he terrified me – and there was too much violence. I heard Terry Nation thought it might be a bit much for kids. Philip Hinchcliffe disagreed and so do I. I mean, the message of Who is very clear: it’s good versus evil and there’s a hero and good always triumphs. And if you take away anything from the programme it’s that you should never give up. Time Lords, journalists, navy doctors – we can all make a difference. Barry came to me once and said, ‘Do you think it’s too much for children?’

  ‘In my opinion the only children who would be bothered by it are the sort of children who would be bothered by a cabbage rolling down the stairs. They’re just a bothered child – you can’t legislate for them. And you certainly cannot allow programmes to be made for such a very specific minority,’ I said.

  Of course, we hadn’t seen The Brain of Morbius yet …

  * * *

  What with the weather and the workload, I was looking forward to the final serial of Season Twelve. I think the plan was to end on Terror of the Zygons, then break for summer, rather than record the first serial for the next block. Brian and I had been talking about getting away for a while. Tangiers kept cropping up as a destination, so we began to look at brochures and flights. That put a spring in my step as we finished Genesis. When you know you’ve got a break coming up, it’s hard not to count the days.

  It was some time in January when all our plans went out the window. ITV, the only competitor to the BBC in those days, announced plans for a new sci-fi series called Space: 1999. It was the brainchild of Gerry Anderson, creator of Thunderbirds and Stingray, so we could expect it to be of quality, although live action and not puppet-based this time. As a non-fan this didn’t particularly bother me. What did, however, was the fact it was
scheduled to launch in late summer. There were all sorts of confabs at the Beeb and they all agreed: if this programme starts before the new series of Who and sinks its claws into our viewers, we might not win them back.

  It’s a pretty negative view, I believe, and in hindsight probably the wrong one. But we didn’t know that then. So, the decision was made to bring forward Season Thirteen. Rather than start in winter, it would now begin in August. The good news was Season Twelve production would now conclude with Genesis – which meant we’d finished that block.

  The bad news was the new season would commence recording straight after, with no break. I had the offer of a new contract on the table for another series (Todd was in negotiation with Philip), but what about summer? What about Tangiers?

  I honestly didn’t think I could do it.

  Chapter Nine

  I Thought You Were Doing A Doctor

  IT WAS with a certain reluctance that I started recording Terror of the Zygons. Not that I had anything against the script – from what I could tell it looked very strong. Nor the director – from the initial meetings with Douglas Camfield, I thought we were in safe hands here. But knowing it wasn’t the end of term, being told this was just the halfway point in a pretty arduous schedule, that was almost too much to bear. And there was no discussion.We were either doing it or we weren’t – those were the options.

  But that wasn’t all. On top of everything else I knew that Zygons would also see me saying goodbye to a very dear friend.

  Being positive for a moment, 1975 was a good time to be involved with Who. Possibly the best time – I’ll let others decide. I don’t think our stock had ever been higher. Tom was really winning plaudits with every episode and there was a genuine groundswell of love for his Doctor. Viewing figures were largely supporting the new fella as well. I remember being called into Philip’s office in February. For some reason he was delirious. He was this close to dancing on the table – and if you know Philip, you will understand how unlikely that image is!

  ‘The figures are amazing!’ he said. ‘You two should be very pleased with yourselves.’

  I guessed he was talking about the second episode of The Ark in Space, which had aired the previous Saturday.

  ‘You’re absolutely right. Do you know how many people tuned in? 13.6 million people – 13.6!’

  Whatever Philip was on was very contagious. It was the first time I genuinely felt, We’re flying, they like us – they really like us!

  The atmosphere in the whole building was electric. It meant so much to everyone. You could taste the enthusiasm in the air. Strangers, people from other programmes, support staff – they all seemed to know our star was in the ascendant. And, do you know what? It felt bloody good! Our hard work was paying off.

  We never hit the same heights again, although there was a definite spike in viewers once Tom was established. People loved him. No wonder he stayed for seven years.

  A few weeks later there was a lot to love, too, about Terror of the Zygons. The plot was intricate, clever and fun and I loved how it tapped into the national psyche, exploiting all those myths and rumours about the Loch Ness Monster. Some of the acting was tremendous as well, the action sequences breathtaking and our director was one of the best.

  But the monster …

  My God, it was Invasion of the Dinosaurs all over again. I bumped into Philip one day and he was nearly in tears. Something had gone seriously wrong. The Skarasen was meant to be a sort of cyborg Nessie but it looked like a sock puppet with eczema. So disappointing. Tom and I fell about when we saw it. The plans had, apparently, promised so much. Dougie Camfield did his best but in the end I know he was resigned to using as few clips of the monster as possible, which was a shame.

  On the plus side, though, I thought the shape-shifting Zygons themselves were pretty chilling. You can tell when James Acheson is back in the costume department because things get ratcheted up a notch. Need half a dozen giant orange-hooded suits with tentacles and octopus suckers? Jim’s your man. It was good to see Keith Ashley again, too, working a Zygon instead of a Dalek this time.

  And we did have fun. At one point Harry is cloned by a Zygon and I have to chase him all over the Scottish (hah!) countryside. He’s hiding in a barn and I stumble in. It’s so redolent of a dozen 1970s thrillers. Really well shot by Dougie, I think. Then Harry has to leap out and try to skewer me on a pitchfork.

  OK, so we rehearsed this, but as soon as the cameras were rolling it was like Ian – not Harry – was a man possessed. He came at me with this bloody pitchfork so fast I thought I’d be kebabed for dinner! Boy, I was glad when that scene was over. I remember falling over just to escape those deadly tines. It was a really tricky moment. You learn it, you practise it – then suddenly you see two sharp blades driving towards your face and have to dive for cover. Not a nice feeling at all.

  Murder attempts aside, Zygons was good for Sarah, as well. I like the fact you actually see me at a typewriter being a journalist – it’s a small reminder that she’s still an independent career woman, despite the aliens and everything. I think the headline on my piece was ‘Another Bermuda Triangle?’ – that was clever of Robert, rooting the story in popular myth once again. There are also some good scenes where Sarah is left to strike out on her own – without the Doctor, for example, when she gets to investigate the Duke’s library and then saves Harry. In fact, I think I got as much if not more solo screen time in Episode 1 as Tom. That’s a real compliment to the character. Whatever my paranoia about Philip’s opinion, he obviously felt Sarah Jane was popular enough with audiences to warrant it.

  Zygons picked up where Cybermen left off and the distress call from UNIT at the end of Season Thirteen. By the time we land in Season Fourteen, there have been a number of costume changes. I’m wearing a sort of pale green safari suit with long boots. Harry is all blazered up as usual, but wearing a familiar inordinately long scarf. And the Doctor is decked out in tartan neckwear plus full Scottish hat and coat combo. The theme continues throughout the start of Episode 1. There’s an off-screen bagpipe player puffing his guts out, which is really played for laughs, while the Brig’s first appearance is wearing a kilt. It turns out he’s related to the clan Stewart, as per his name. And not because, as Sarah mocks him: ‘You were just doing a Doctor.’

  With budgets not stretching to Loch Ness, Philip and Dougie sourced the ideal alternative locations – in Sussex. In mid-March we recorded all the beach scenes on Climping Beach, plus the TARDIS’s arrival on Ambersham Common. The next day we filmed Tom’s big chase scene on Tullock Moor. That was action-packed and a half, really redolent of Cary Grant in North by Northwest. When it came to the Zygon spaceship landing, however, I think someone somewhere was enjoying an in-joke.

  According to the script, the aliens landed their craft in a disused quarry outside Brentford. A quarry actually in the script! When the Brig and co. screech up in their Jeeps, for once there was no need to block out the cranes and diggers. I wonder how many people at home had a giggle at that.

  Early April we finally shot the first studio episode in White City; the second followed the day after. I had a good feeling about this one. As usual there were some great auxiliary players, notably John Woodnutt as the Duke of Forgill. It never ceased to amaze me how Who could be like this kind of glee club for actors. Some quality talent appeared on our doorstep – and they were so happy to be part of it. John had a couple of parts. When he wasn’t being the Duke, or a Zygon pretending to be the Duke, he actually lived inside one of the Zygon costumes. They were very difficult to move inside – I can still picture Jim Acheson guiding John across the room. John didn’t let it get him down; he used to tap dance on his mark. Once I went too close and this crazy orange lizard creature said, ‘Feel my suckers, Sladen. My suckers are so exquisite, feel them!’

  Working with Dougie Camfield was a hoot. Like Maloney, he made you feel part of something special. He wasn’t some coach with a megaphone ordering his minions around –
we were crucial to the programme.

  ‘Morning, people,’ he would holler when he arrived. ‘Where’s my A-team?’

  He was such a flatterer. And because he got on so well with everyone, we’d do anything for him. One day he announced, ‘Look guys, we’re behind, we’re running out of days, and I really need this to be good. Who’s going to come in at the weekend?’

  Of course, we all told him to clear off, or words to that effect – he would have expected nothing less, I’m sure – especially when he admitted we wouldn’t be paid. But we were only kidding: anything for Dougie.

  Tom said, ‘Yes, I’ll bring the soup, Lissie can bring the pork pies.’ Everyone was given a task because of course the canteen wouldn’t be running on the Sabbath. Then on the Sunday, in we duly marched. Dougie couldn’t have looked prouder.

  ‘My beautiful A-team!’

  I’d have done anything for Dougie – well, almost anything. He had a background in gritty dramas like The Sweeney, real urban telly, and so when it came to us he had particular tastes. For example, if the script said, ‘Sarah’s leg bleeds’, he would not have been disappointed to see real blood. It’s true. I’m not saying he would ask me to hurt myself – but if it happened I don’t think he’d be too put out! Imagine being poor Lillias Walker. For one scene on the moor, her character Sister Lamont has to wield a sickening arm gash. She must have been so nervous around Dougie and sharp objects …

  Dougie was a mass of contradictions. He was very hippy-looking, with his beard, hat and thin, pale physique, but he was also a military man through and through. More than that, he had an air-raid shelter at the bottom of his garden stocked with bully beef. Everything was set for the bomb to go off. He used to say, ‘The invasion is coming – and I’m ready!’