No, I thought, it’s the right decision.
Before I’d departed on a high – I couldn’t allow anything to soil that memory.
When I left his office, I honestly thought I’d never hear from John again. Luckily, or unluckily, for me, he’s not the sort of man who takes ‘no’ for an answer.
* * *
A year earlier I’m not sure I would even have gone in for the meeting, but by the time I saw JNT in summer 1980 I’d already been re-admitted to the Whoniverse.
And I liked it.
In late 1979 I’d received a request from my agent asking me to attend a Who fan event. It wasn’t the first invite I’d received for something like that and usually I just responded, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ I wasn’t in the show any more – to me it seemed rude to be making public appearances when there were others who were more entitled.
So what made me say ‘yes’ to this one?
Well, enough time had passed, I was going to be the ‘star’ guest and Ian Marter would also be there. Brian could come, too – if he could get out of his play in Richmond.
Oh, and the event was to be held in Los Angeles!
Lucy Chase Williams – who has written a book on Vincent Price and is such a together, organised lady – and Amy Krell, now a producer, were arranging their first Doctor Who American convention, ‘Whol’, and they wanted me as their star guest – and people say there are no female Doctor Who fans! I think the US Public Broadcast Service channel had recently begun to achieve good ratings for its Who episodes and, being a little behind the UK, I was still in the show over there. On top of that, VHS recorders had started to become more commonplace – fans were taping episodes and trading them with others. It’s much easier to get a buzz going when you can all see the same thing.
Lucy and Amy couldn’t have been more welcoming. They met us at the airport and drove us to our hotel on Rodeo Drive. We got a tour of the downstairs convention rooms, dinner, and you just knew you were in safe hands. I don’t know what they’d heard about Ian and me but I’d never seen so much booze around! I had a room where I would be able to relax between sessions, which was so thoughtful. ‘Anything you want, Lis, you just ask,’ said Lucy. Music to my ears …
So far it was just like a holiday – I almost forgot I was there to work.
I had genuinely no idea what to expect. Autograph hunters are one thing, but usually they’re stepping into your territory. Bumping into you in the street, hanging around a location shoot or queuing at the stage door, that sort of thing. Today, though, I was stepping into their world.
Even as Lucy led me through towards the convention rooms I was convinced this had been a wasted journey.
I left the show in 1976. No one here will care who I am. I’m just going to be the mad aunt nobody wants to sit near at the wedding.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It started in the morning when Lucy handed me a copy of the Hollywood Reporter – the movie business’s trade paper. There it was, in black and white: ‘Lis Sladen from Doctor Who, will be appearing at …’
Wow!
Lucy and Amy said they’d booked me as their ‘star name’ but I didn’t expect anything like the reaction I got when I entered the room. It was incredible – the volume of applause when I was introduced blew my socks off! Just like Blackpool all over again but condensed into a far tinier space this time so it seemed even more intense. Everywhere I looked there were people laughing and smiling, whooping and cheering – it genuinely took my breath away. I was practically carried over the audience’s heads just to reach the stage.
I was there to answer questions on stage, do signings, take part in discussion panels, things like that – they’ve all become standard events at conventions down the years and now I can do them with my eyes shut. But it was so new to me then. Being interrogated by several hundred of your most devout fans can be intimidating and mind-blowing at the same time: you’re aware they know more about the show than you do but you soon learn that you can say anything and they’ll consider it. There are no quick judgements, everyone in that room is on your side.
While I was doing my thing in the main room, I think there were other sessions, like workshops and screenings, going on elsewhere. It really was a packed programme. Sometimes I got to work alongside Ian, which was such a treat. Other times we were separated so they could get as many people involved as possible.
At the end of that first night there was an auction and guess what the top prize was? A dance with yours truly! An awe-struck young boy won, thanks to his father’s generosity, and in fact we still keep in touch now.
The absolute highlight of the weekend for me, however, was the fancy dress competition. Ian and I were the guest stars so we were the obvious choice for judges. Unfortunately, apart from a break for lunch, we’d been sitting there for the whole day – and I have to say we were feeling a bit high by then. Possibly, alcohol may have been involved.
Anyway, they started this contest and all manner of eye-catching shapes and colours were wheeled past us. Honestly, the invention of Who fans will never, ever cease to impress me. Some of the monsters I recognised from my time, others were clearly pre- or post-Sarah Jane. I remember looking at Ian for help and being met with a shrug. Then we’d both nod at the entrant and say, ‘Well done, very realistic.’
Most of the costumes were brilliant – obviously a lot of time and effort had gone into them. The standard had been very high when this kid walked by in what looked like a black bin liner. I just burst out laughing and slid under the table! ‘What on earth is that?’ I called out to Ian but I was giggling so much I didn’t hear his answer. I literally had to dive out of view. It had been such a precious day but this costume brought out the giggles. Now I knew how Keith Barron felt with that bloody train on Stepping Stones – I can’t do this any more.
We raised quite a lot of money that weekend and I’ve still got a photo of us presenting a cheque to the local hospital. My main memory of that convention is the American fans, though. I’d only ever met British fans before. These guys didn’t have the benefit of the same historic relationship with Who because the programme hadn’t been broadcast for as long. It might have been on loop daily but it was still years behind. You’d never have guessed it though from the noise. They were polite, they were informed and respectful – but everything was so much bigger and louder and more extreme. It was truly incredible. I loved it, I really did.
Another significant contrast between UK and US events is the merchandise. Shortly after I arrived, Lucy said, ‘We’ve got a table where you can sell your tapes and photos.’
‘My what?’
‘Your merchandise – whatever you’ve brought to sell.’
‘God, I haven’t brought anything!’
‘OK,’ she beamed. ‘That’s good, too.’
We really missed a trick there. Americans, I soon learned, were so far ahead of Brits in this area.
If Lucy was surprised at my marketing naïvety, she was positively staggered by my professional ignorance. It’s not just because she works in PR. Everyone I met in LA couldn’t believe I hadn’t come to the world’s celluloid capital with the aim of finding an American agent.
Honestly, it never occurred to me.
Ian returned to London after the convention but Brian and I had bought Freddie Laker ‘open’ tickets. In other words, we could stay in America for a few weeks and go home when our money ran out. I was really looking forward to that – we’d had such fun in California during our Morley days. While we prepared to have the time of our lives, however, Lucy and Amy set about working on my behalf. They had loads of tapes of me from their own collections and sent these around to local agents. What an honour having people like that working for you! Through them I got an interview at Paramount and the Samuel Goldwyn Studios.
Another agent approached me direct. I’d just finished a Q&A at the convention when this older guy with silver hair shuffled up from the back of the hall. He didn�
�t look like the usual Who fan, let’s put it that way.
‘I really enjoyed that,’ he said. ‘Can I give you some advice? Write to the William Morris Agency – tell them Abe Lastfogel sent you.’
I thanked him for the compliments and went backstage. When I told my hosts they were ecstatic. ‘Abe’s the agents’ agent,’ Lucy explained. ‘He’s been around since Lana Turner’s day – you have to write to them!’
So I sent the letter, then Brian and I set off on our trip. A few weeks later I got a letter back – forwarded to our hotel in Santa Barbara. It simply said that so-and-so, the head honcho at William Morris, would like to see me the next day. I showed Brian the letter.
‘Well, I can’t go to that,’ I said. ‘We’re on holiday.’
In hindsight, of course, I should have jumped in a cab, on a train or on a plane. Those offers don’t come around every day, not even every year. But I was so naïve and nonchalant then. I wrote back, ‘I return on this date and I’ll pop in then.’ So that’s what I did. Of course, sod’s law, on the day I turned up the main man was on vacation. I saw his second-in-command, who looked about twelve years old. There wasn’t the hint of a spark between us and I wasn’t surprised when I never heard from him again.
Why didn’t I rush back when I was asked? I regret that, I actually do, but I didn’t at the time and that was the main thing. My holiday with my husband was more important.
I had one more chance to make an impression on the city. A guy called Dave Rosen, who represented a host of international superstars, had responded to Lucy’s letter. When he invited me to his office on Sunset Boulevard I was determined not to cock it up. An hour later, I was on cloud nine. He was so complimentary.
‘You could achieve incredible things here, Lis,’ he promised me. ‘We can get you as high as you want to go.’
‘What do I have to do?’ I asked.
‘Minimum: you have to move over here. Give me a year and I’ll make you a star.’
A year in Los Angeles? What an amazing offer! With Rosen behind me, I began to believe I had a shot at Hollywood. I knew my answer.
‘I’m sorry, Dave – it’s got to be “no”.’
There was no way I could do it. Mum had only recently died and Dad had never recovered. Every weekend I could, I caught the train up to be with him. I’d phoned him a couple of times from LA and he was anxious to see me again. There was no way I could stay away from him for a year.
Back in London Brian said I should go to the BBC and tell them about the merchandising opportunities available at ‘Whol’. ‘They’re selling calendars, photos – all the stuff the Beeb – and you! – should be making money from.’
So, fire in my belly after an amazing trip I made an appointment at BBC Enterprises, the Corporation’s commercial arm. ‘Look, do you realise how much money they’re making? We should be getting a slice of that,’ I told them. They virtually laughed me out of the building – I swear it was a case of, ‘Little Sarah Jane, what does she know?’ That’s honestly how I felt I was treated.
A year later they were knocking on my door. ‘What were you saying about us selling things over there?’ I could have screamed. By then the horse had bolted and the moment had gone, never to be recaptured. So long as Who was making money in the UK, they weren’t interested in it abroad – I’m convinced of that. But in America you can be popular one minute and gone the next, so you have to harness the moment. They missed it. If they hadn’t, maybe Who would never have been cancelled.
Despite any professional frustrations I was grateful to ‘Who1’ for two things: the first was magical friendships with Lucy and Amy (we’re still close today). Secondly, and probably more importantly career-wise, that weekend really reignited my love for Doctor Who. I’d never gone off it, never become one of those people who start laughing at the wobbly sets or too-earnest acting – I just assumed my moment had passed and my connection with it, too. I thought I’d put that chapter to bed in 1976, never to be reopened. But LA changed all of that. All the love I ever had for the show or the fans came flooding back. From that moment on it stopped being something I should run away from – I needed to embrace my Who past and my Who future.
I’m not saying this would have been enough to influence my meeting with John Nathan-Turner, but if I were asked to take part in something else, maybe the answer would be more positive.
* * *
Adverts were still a lucrative way of making a living. I remember receiving the booking for a Dulux paint commercial and I thought, That shouldn’t take long. Of course, I’d forgotten Dulux’s mascot was an Old English Sheepdog so of course I’d be acting with him – and dogs and I just do not get on! Back then anything to do with a dog seemed to involve the celebrity trainer Barbara Woodhouse and true to form, she was all over this. She reminded me of the canine version of Mary Whitehouse.
I was meant to lie on a sofa and this dog, Digby, had to come over and wake me up by pawing my arm. Fine.
We did the first take and I screamed. Digby’s claws had cut straight into my flesh.
‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘This dog is drawing blood!’
Woodhouse came bustling over. ‘Now, look,’ she tutted, ‘you wouldn’t find it very easy to balance on three legs, would you?’
‘Bloody hell!’ I said. ‘Can’t you cut its claws?’
Not one of my happier jobs.
Good times were just around the corner, though. Once again the setting was a place that had been kind to me on many an occasion. Yorkshire Television had enjoyed a successful debut year with Thora Hird and Christopher Beeney – In Loving Memory – and I was hired for the opening show of the second season. Thora was great pals with Keith Barron, so we had a mutual friend to laugh about. She was very funny, extremely dry and had us all in stitches when her replacement hip slowed her down.
‘I’ll be along in a minute, chuck,’ she’d say. ‘I’m sitting on steel here!’
Most of my scenes were with Christopher. I was Mary Bennett, his girlfriend, and so we found ourselves in a series of those gentle period courtship scenes. (I did panto with Chris a few years ago, so plenty of time for catching up and remembering Thora.)
It was a nice little job though not exactly lucrative. I was invited to come back for the Christmas Special but my agent said I could make more money elsewhere. I’d never really turned down parts on financial grounds before – it didn’t sit well at all.
There was slightly more money to be had elsewhere on ITV. A lovely director, Bill Bain, had put together a great cast for Name for the Day, part of the Play for Today strand. I played Jo, then we had super Richard O’Callaghan as my husband, Pauline Quirke as an asylum patient, and a gorgeous actor who used to have me in hysterics – Simon Cadell (I was so pleased for him when he became so successful in Hi-de-Hi!). I made great pals with Pauline – we went out together quite a lot and I even got an invite to her wedding, which was beautiful. We’ve lost touch, which is a shame, but I was so happy working with her.
The play itself upset me quite a bit. It was extremely wearing keeping a straight face among the chaos. Afterwards Bill Bain sent me a letter. He said, ‘It’s very hard playing the only straight character in a humorous play when everyone else is trying to be funny. Well done!’
People like Bill are few and far between. He didn’t have to send that note – he was just one of those people who are so kind and want to help others. And he reminded me so much of a certain someone else from my past – who was once again about to become very important to me.
It all began with a call from my agent.
‘Are you interested in playing Lady Flimnap on TV?’ he asked.
The name rang a bell. ‘Can you tell me anything else about it?’
‘I’m not sure what it is – it hasn’t been written properly yet. All I know is it’s from Gulliver’s Travels.’
‘Oh, I remember,’ I said. ‘She’s not exactly the star of it. Maybe I’ll pass on this one.’
‘Fair enough,’
said Todd. ‘Let me see what else I can dig up on it.’
He rang back later and said, ‘Barry Letts is writing and directing it.’
That’s all I needed to hear.
‘OK, tell them I’m in!’
I would have walked over hot coals to work with Barry again. When I left Who he’d told me, ‘I’m going to write to some people and recommend they see you.’ And he did – I saw a copy of it. He said: ‘I really think you should see this person because I think she could become one of the best actresses of our generation.’ I’m not sure much ever came of it – I did go to see people but perhaps I don’t sell myself well enough. All I know is, he didn’t have to do that. So the opportunity to work with him, however small the role, was not to be missed.
The day after I agreed to do Flimnap, Barry rang me himself and I remembered yet again why he was so special.
‘I’m so pleased you’re going to do it,’ he told me. ‘I’m going to write the part up just for you.’
What a gentleman.
* * *
Barry coming back into my life seemed like an omen and while he beavered away on the script I accepted an invite to another US Who convention. This one hadn’t been organised by Lucy but if it was half as much fun, I’d be in for a treat. Once again Ian Marter was also on the list – as was Barry, something I was really excited about – and there was a ticket for Brian. I couldn’t wait. Fort Lauderdale, here we come!
The event opened at two o’clock on 5 February 1981. At about ten past Ian and I were still standing outside the hall – it was so packed we couldn’t get in. Boy, when Americans decide they like something, they really go for it! I probably hadn’t thought about Who more than once since the LA convention – and that was during the meeting with John Nathan-Turner. I’d forgotten how massive the show had become over there. I never expected that level of attention. And I definitely didn’t expect to have to be physically passed over the audience’s heads just to reach the stage!
Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography Page 27