Soul on the Street

by William Roache

Peter Carter-Ruck and I both thought this wasn’t enough, because the paper stood to make far more than that from the increased circulation that would follow from the publicity about the case. I didn’t particularly mind how much I received in damages, but obviously the more I was awarded, the stronger the point I had made, so, on advice, I refused the money.

  It was also explained to me that now the Sun had paid this money into court, if we were awarded damages above £25,000, that was fine, but if they were the same as or below that figure I would be liable to pay both sides’ costs from the time the money was paid into court. This seemed a little worrying, but I was still pretty sure I would win.

  The following month the Sun put another £25,000 into court, making £50,000 in total. Once again, on advice, I refused the offer, although this time I was a little nervous about doing so. The case proceeded.

  With so many cast members due to speak in court, as well as writer Tom Elliott, producer Mervyn Watson and director Brian Mills, Coronation Street’s schedules were quite severely disrupted, but the Granada management was very supportive.

  Sara, too, was absolutely brilliant and I was incredibly grateful for that, especially as the counsel for the defence, Mr Eady, insisted upon asking the court to read the section of the article that I was not protesting about, which concerned my life in the ’60s. That gave every tabloid a lot of fodder and diverted people’s attention from the real issue, which was just what the Sun wanted.

  The pressure was terrible. My pulse rate soared and remained high for weeks afterwards. I had thought I was prepared for the ordeal, but I wasn’t. And it was even worse when I found every last detail splashed all over the newspapers day after day. The Sun’s article had been extremely unkind and wrong, there’s no doubt about that, but somehow I found myself on trial instead.

  An example of Ken Irwin’s methods came to light when he gave his evidence. He had claimed that I had once given him an official interview. I knew I hadn’t, but then he produced a transcript, followed by a cassette tape, and there I was, talking to him. I couldn’t remember it at all and began to wonder if I was actually going mad.

  Then I realized that the only time I’d ever spoken to him, apart from at Euston station, was at the opening of Stage One, a set that had been built especially for Coronation Street. I had been representing the cast. After the launch and some questions from the press, I’d got some food from the buffet and walked round chatting to people, including Ken Irwin. But I had been speaking on behalf of the company that day, not giving a personal interview. And I had had no idea he had a hidden tape recorder.

  On the witness stand he still insisted that I was hated by the cast, even though the newspaper itself had now apologized for the line containing those words, but he was unable to name any of them. Enough said.

  The case had started on a Tuesday and by Friday afternoon the barristers were summing up, but there wasn’t time for the judge’s summing up and directions to the jury, so the trial was adjourned until the Monday. That weekend Sara and I were trapped in our hotel, unable to go out because of all the photographers hanging around. It was an incredibly tense time, not helped by the Sunday papers having a field day.

  On the Monday morning the judge, Chief Justice Waterhouse, summed up very thoroughly, going through the whole case, and when he mentioned damages, he stressed that they should not be punitive. That worried me, because punitive damages were the point. A mere rap on the knuckles wouldn’t stop the Sun from doing it all again to someone else.

  The jury was out for about an hour and three-quarters and by that time I just wanted to go away and forget about the whole thing.

  When the jury foreman returned and said they had found in my favour, though, my heart soared. It had all been worth it. Now those allegations were known to be false and were proven to be false. It had been proven that the Sun had libelled me. I had won.

  But now came the big lesson. What damages had the jury awarded?

  ‘Fifty thousand pounds.’

  It was incredible. That was the exact sum that the Sun had paid into court, which meant that I was liable for all the costs – about £800,000 worth. And the jury didn’t even know what money had been paid into court. It was an amazing coincidence. Only there are no coincidences, no mistakes. The laws are absolute. Now, when I look back, I can see karma at work. I was meant to be hit really hard, and I was.

  At first it didn’t seem so bad. My counsel immediately petitioned for me to be awarded costs and the judge obliged. But the Sun continued to blacken my name. The very next day their front-page headline was, ‘Roache demands £200,000.’ That wasn’t true at all, but it served to draw the public’s attention away from the fact that the Sun had lost the case. It was also taken up by other newspapers, which portrayed me as being out for all I could get. It was very unpleasant to have to live through that.

  Then the Sun launched an appeal. That wasn’t heard for another year. By that time I had developed an ulcer and had to be taken into hospital. The stress was terrific.

  I was beginning to hate every moment of the whole process. I would have loved to have just walked away. But by now there was an inevitability about it. I felt it was something I had to go through. It got to the point where I really began to feel karma at work and I just knew that things weren’t going to go right, even though everyone said we couldn’t lose, no way.

  But we did. The panel of appeal ruled that if the amount paid into court was met by the damages, the plaintiff must pay the costs. That was the law. So I had to pay the original costs and the costs of the appeal as well. It seemed ruinous at the time, but I was very well looked after – we were so well looked after – that in the event we didn’t have to sell the marital home and the children were still able to go to their private schools.

  It was a hard lesson learned. By acting out of pride and protecting my ego, I had brought incredible financial problems on myself – even though I had won the libel case!

  At the time I wasn’t even aware I needed the lesson. If I had been, perhaps it wouldn’t have been such a big one. But you need hard lessons in order to develop. Difficult experiences are precious gifts. They give you the opportunity to go through the mill. You don’t want to, of course, but if you do, you experience something, you learn a lot and you emerge better and stronger as a result.

  Such experiences are karmic. You have chosen to go through them in order to discharge some negativity from the past and you move forward as a stronger person.

  What would I have done now? Nothing! Articles like that are hurtful, but people soon forget. They move on, and so should you. You shouldn’t react, you shouldn’t respond, you should just try to understand and forgive. That was the lesson I needed to learn.

  I think that in life if you have a conflict with somebody you should always give a little more than you want to. If you do that you will find it helps discharge matters. You’ll get a response and you will resolve things.

  I’m not saying that you should surrender to something that is wrong, but you should have a good look at the problem and examine why it’s there. Is there any pride, greed or other negative ingredient on your part? Remove that from yourself and then face up to your difficulties and be strong. And if you can just give that little bit more, even if it might hurt you a little, you’ll find that most disputes will simply go away. It doesn’t always work, but it’s worth a try!

  There should be no need to go to law. I know there are lots of genuine people in the legal profession, but my advice would be to go to the law for conveyancing or wills, but otherwise use your own judgement and come to terms with things yourself if you can.

  Pride is a big enemy. And it comes in many guises. You have to watch out for it, because pride is the ego at work. The libel case was all down to pride, really. It was a great lesson. I just hope I don’t ever have to go through anything like that ever again!

  The aftermath lasted for ages – three or four years. There were bills that went way beyond what we coul
d afford and we had huge financial problems. It got to a point where more lawyers were involved and insolvency people had to come in and it seemed a never-ending process. The lawyers were trying to sort everything out, but their fees were mounting up and the whole process was gaining a momentum of its own.

  Suddenly one day I took back my own responsibility. I told the lawyers to stop acting on my behalf and I went to meet the people who were fighting me over the finances and we began to work things out. Slowly we came out of the cloud.

  From this I also learned that if you tackle something in what you regard as the most difficult way, you’ll get the best result. It may be embarrassing or hard, but wonderful things can happen. For me, the way forward became clear almost miraculously.

  Never let other people fight your battles for you. If you’re in a difficult situation, you’ve got to be realistic and face it head-on and deal with it yourself. If you actually are incapable of dealing with it yourself for some reason, perhaps because you lack the professional knowledge, there’s no harm in seeking advice, but don’t just shelter behind a group of people who might not really have your best interests at heart.

  It’s always best to experience things yourself, deal with things yourself, suffer the consequences if necessary and grow as a result.

  In the end Sara and I were able to get back on an even keel financially. It took a long time, but we did it and Sara was a great support all the way through. We fought our way back.

  The court case was a big watershed in my thinking. I had been seeking security in the material world and that wasn’t right. I had been looking in the wrong place. There is no security in the material world. Everything is subject to decay and change. Everything, even the Earth, the sun, the whole universe.

  The only permanence is your immortal state, your state of being, your soul. That is eternal. But it’s the only thing that is. There’s no security materially.

  Once I realized that, I felt much easier and happier. If you’re looking for something in the wrong place, it’s frustrating and you always have a feeling that things aren’t quite right. But the minute you realize that the only security, the only permanence, is your spiritual self, that’s fine. Then you’re walking down the right road. Then you can put your energy into what is meaningful and not waste your time and energy on the inevitable distress and failure.

  It is liberating, totally liberating.

  CHAPTER 16

  Moving Forward

  ‘The only thing in life that you can be sure of is change.’

  Life goes on, always moving, always changing, and once I had stopped looking for permanence in the material world, I was much more at ease with it.

  Coronation Street was an ever-present fixture, of course, but even the way we worked on it changed completely over time. In the early days we had rehearsals and run-throughs and technical run-throughs, so by the time we came to do it we really knew it. About ten years ago we started having three episodes a week and so the rehearsal time had to go because all the time available was needed for filming. Then about four or five years ago we went to five episodes a week. Now we’ve no rehearsal at all, there’s no prompting and we have to be word-perfect. So we learn it at home, turn up, do it and go back home again.

  Filming goes on from 8.00 in the morning until 7.30 at night six days a week. Saturday is the only guaranteed free day. Of course, none of us is filming all the time; the amount we do depends upon our involvement in the storyline. When we are heavily involved we can spend nearly 12 hours in the studio and then have to learn our lines at night. If you are in five episodes a week and in several scenes in each one, then all you do is work, sleep and work again. There’s really no time for anything else. But nobody has that for too long. The cast is big and the load is spread.

  We do get through an amazing amount of work. An ‘A’ feature film will probably record two minutes in a day but we’ll record 20 minutes to half an hour, maybe more. It’s a lot. Also, sometimes a great many actors are involved – big groups in the Rover’s, party scenes – such scenes can mop up a lot of time. And then there are all the external shots in addition.

  We get the scripts about ten days before filming, but we’re usually working on something currently as well, so there are times when we seem to be permanently learning. It doesn’t make it easy to plan the rest of your life. You usually know two or three months ahead how many episodes you are going to be in and therefore how busy you’re going to be. But sometimes – just when you think you’re in for a quiet week – it doesn’t work out that way: along come post-shoots from the week that’s gone and pre-shoots for the week that’s ahead. Apart from fixed holidays – we each get five weeks a year – the scheduling can play havoc with such things as dental appointments and anniversary celebrations.

  But the work’s good and although this system is more intense, I prefer it, because if you have to get very emotional in a particular scene, you don’t have time to rehearse it, you just do it, and the spontaneity pays off. If you have rehearsed something and worked on it over and over, what you do is recapture the initial feelings and act them out. That’s how actors in the theatre can go through highly emotional stuff night after night and really not feel very much. They’ve got it down pat, they know how to do it, it’s almost routine. But with us you get the real thing.

  There is a good atmosphere at work and we all get on remarkably well, but most of us don’t socialize. As soon as we’ve finished, we are in the car and on the way home. That’s understandable, given the intensity of our work. It’s a friendly place to be, though, in spite of the pressure. There is a fair amount of fun.

  We don’t know a lot about each other’s private lives, although everyone is supportive if one of us is in trouble or in need of help. As I’ve pointed out, the majority of the cast don’t know about my interest in spiritual matters; it’s not something I choose to talk about unless someone comes to me and broaches the subject. There are a few people with whom I can have interesting conversations, though. It’s always a joy to me when someone wants to talk about these things and it is amazing how quickly a like mind is recognized.

  ‘We are all eternal beings and, as such, whether we know it or not, we all love one another.’

  Some weeks work takes up all my time and other weeks are less demanding. But generally speaking, Coronation Street is as near a nine-to-five job as you will get in this profession, and it does give me the chance to do other things.

  When I was starting out, all I knew was I had to be an actor. People said, ‘There are lots of very famous actors out of work,’ and ‘You’re not a member of Equity,’ and ‘You know nothing about it.’ That didn’t matter. Nothing would stop me. You do have to be realistic, though. When my sons wanted to go into acting, I said, ‘You’ve got to understand what it’s going to be like – you’ve got to be able to take the rejection, and the work is hard.’ Today I get lots of letters from people saying, ‘I want to be an actor. How can I get on telly?’ and I can see that all they really want is that moment of fame. That’s no good. Forget it. Get on with something you’re driven to do. You’ve got to go inside and find out what it is that you really want. That’s the only way.

  I not only wanted to be an actor, I needed to be one. But I remember being asked ages back, soon after I started my spiritual development, ‘Do you think that this is compatible with the work that you do?’ I got really worried about that. There was a time when I thought that maybe it wasn’t. The thing with acting is, it’s a real ego-trip business. I did wonder for a while whether I would have to give it up. But as time went on I realized that it could be a tool for good. I’m in a job that opens doors. I’m asked to give talks, I know, just because I’m on television. That’s fine by me and I’m very happy if a lot of people come to the talks for that reason only. Maybe what I say will give them a glimmer of something that could be of interest and help to them. I think this could be part of my contribution to life – talking about these things to people who m
ight not otherwise hear them. So fame has enabled me to sow seeds in people’s minds.

  By now I’ve got pretty philosophical about being well-known. I actually forget about it sometimes and it surprises me when someone says something. But the recognition factor is extraordinary. Cars on the motorway will suddenly start pulling in behind or in front, just to look at me driving! Sometimes I will go into a café for a quiet coffee and be faced with a busload of holidaymakers all clamouring for autographs. Occasionally it can be inconvenient, but usually it’s very pleasant. People are very good. They can get quite protective, actually. A lot of them don’t want to bother me. Sometimes if I’m walking down the street (not the Street) I won’t be aware of anyone recognizing me at all and then my wife will say, ‘Did you see those people? Once they had passed you they all turned round and went, “Did you see who that was?!”’

  Fame doesn’t mean a lot in terms of your state of being, of course. If you take it seriously and try to build on it too much in any way, it’s dangerous. It is hard for people who get it for a short time and it is taken away from them before they can adjust to it; it is also hard if you get it too young. Fortunately I’ve never been in a position of really letting it go to my head. Possibly my background helped. The three years I had in repertory also helped to keep my feet on the ground. That was such a hard grind and I learned so much from my colleagues that there was no way I could get carried away!

  My son Will has also had a break by going to university before going into acting; that has been his equivalent of my army career, in a way. He hasn’t come to me for advice; he wants to do it all his own way. I don’t get any feeling that he’s following my footsteps, as he’s very much his own person, and that’s quite right. I hope he does well. I think he will.

  My daughter Verity also went to university, reading art history at St Andrews University. She had a wonderful time there and went on to get a very good 2:1. She now lives in London and is very happy working for Nicky Haslam in interior design. We are very proud of her.