Sladen, Elisabeth - Elisabeth Sladen - The Autobiography

At least they are in the studio. In the rehearsal room it’s quite a different story.

Obviously John, Cy and Murphy didn’t want to be lumbered with the whole Dalek paraphernalia at North Acton but neither was it any use if they simply wandered around normally. So they would learn all their lines, bless them – because obviously they were dubbed by Michael for broadcast – then hop into just the bottom half of the Dalek suit. Watching these three wheel around the room, using their hands as the sink plunger and whisk, took a bit of getting used to before the laughs stopped but it was the perfect compromise, really.

I don’t know if Terry Nation ever saw one of these rehearsals. Maybe that’s where he got the inspiration for the look of Davros.

When it came to the studio days, Michael sat there at the side with headphones and a mic so we could hear the words in real time.

I say ‘studio days’ – that was another thing Briant meddled with. Rather than shoot on both Mondays and Tuesdays as was tradition, he decided to dedicate Monday to rehearsals and Tuesdays to all-day filming. What an ordeal! It wasn’t just that we were used to the old way, although that certainly contributed to our annoyance, but such a gap between rehearsal and ‘action!’ was way too long. Worse, having to cram the equivalent of two episodes into a single day piled on too much pressure. By the end of each Tuesday I was ready to kill; we all were.

If I hate something, I have a moan but then I get on with it. Jon couldn’t do that – this new way of working knocked him for six. As much as anything, he hadn’t been consulted and I could see his temper getting worse as the weeks went by. Learning lines was more of an effort for him, focusing on rehearsals seemed arduous and keeping a civil tongue in his head with Briant around was sometimes a chore too much. I really felt for him. It was Jon’s show, he was the name above the title yet he was being forced to work in a way that really didn’t get the best out of him.

The second Jon realised he wasn’t enjoying it any more his mind went into overdrive. ‘I’m not being paid enough to work like this,’ he announced during a break. ‘It’s time to have a word with the powers that be.’

At the time I didn’t think much of it. He’s probably just letting off steam, like the rest of us , I told myself.

* * *

Shooting on Death to the Daleks finished for me on 18 December. How on earth it was nearly Christmas already I had no idea, but as we wrapped late at night there was a spring in everyone’s step – even Jon’s – and it wasn’t just the prospect of a few days off. Three days earlier, on Saturday, 15 December, the first episode of The Time Warrior had finally gone out on BBC1. I don’t know how they work these things out, but viewing figures were good – nearly nine million people!

Of course, when I sat down with Brian at 5.10 that Saturday afternoon I had no idea whether it would be a success or not. I know it’s only television and I’d recorded the show back in May, but I had a real case of first night jitters. As the continuity announcer introduced the programme it felt exactly like that moment when the curtain is about to go up – and you’re not sure you remember all the lines.

I don’t know what I was so nervous about. You never know what’s going to be added afterwards but I was pleased with how it turned out. The special effects were unlike anything I’d ever seen before and seeing how they worked the TARDIS was mind-blowing, really. I thought I did all right, too, but I still had that nagging doubt: what if the viewers don’t take to me after Katy?

‘Stop fussing,’ Brian said. ‘They’ll love you.’

I wasn’t convinced.

Half an hour later, the end credits barely faded from the screen and our phone rang. It was Mum. The whole family had gathered round the telly at home, she reported, and they were all so proud of me.

‘You were the star, Lissie!’

Dad was a bit overwhelmed, I think. He and Mum had seen all my plays and everything I’d been in on television but I suppose I did have a lot of screen time in this one. And I would for another twenty-five episodes. Perhaps that was the difference. Either way, that became our Saturday night ritual. As soon as an episode finished, Mum or Dad would jump on the phone to tell me what they thought about it. Who knew my parents would become such fans of science fiction?

Brian had to slip off for a play but it didn’t matter. The phone rang off the hook all night with friends and family congratulating me. It was nice. I hoped I’d done Sarah Jane justice – I thought she deserved it.

Unfortunately, even as I watched that episode, I knew things in Sarah’s world were about to change. Viewers didn’t know it yet but Terry Dicks was off and Barry wouldn’t be far behind. But the most devastating news had just reached me: Jon had quit.

We would be looking for a new Doctor.

Chapter Six

There’s Nothing ‘Only’ About Being A Girl

I STILL REMEMBER Jon regaling me with the story. He’d never been more upbeat.

‘So, Lissie, I bowled in to see Shaun Sutton and said, “Hello, old boy, the programme’s doing well – better than ever, I hear. How about a rise?”’

Shaun was head of drama.

‘How did that go?’ I asked.

‘Shaun looked up. Didn’t smile, just said, “I’m sorry, Jon. The answer’s no.”

‘That was it, Lissie. Can you believe it? No discussion, no “we’ll consider it” or “maybe next year”. Just a big flat “no”.’

I felt for Jon, I really did.

‘So, what did you do?’

‘Well, it left me in a very awkward position. So I said, “Then, I have no alternative but to inform you that I’m leaving the show.”’

‘You didn’t!’ I gasped.

‘I certainly did.’ Jon puffed himself up as he spoke. ‘I walked out, closed the door and that was that.’

‘And how do you feel about it now, Jon?’

‘Best thing I ever did,’ he assured me. And I believed him.

Wow ! The Doctor was leaving. I hadn’t seen that coming and Jon hadn’t either, I think. To be fair, he seemed content with his decision, which was great. Where it left the programme, however, I had no clue. Would they replace him? Could they replace him? And if they did, would the new Doctor want me?

Ah well , I thought. I only signed for a year. I may as well enjoy it.

* * *

Speaking of enjoying it, strange things had begun to happen to me since The Time Warrior ’s transmission. As a young girl in London it’s not out of the norm to attract the odd stare or comment from men of a certain disposition but after Christmas it seemed to become more frequent, and not just from men. I felt women studying me as well. When the first young boy rushed up to me near my house the penny dropped: they were Who fans.

I’d seen the effect Jon could have on complete strangers when we were out and about but, naïvely I suppose, I never for one moment expected the same treatment. He was the Doctor. Who was I?

It turned out that for a surprising number of people I was apparently quite important.

Signing my first autograph was an amazing feeling. It’s one of those skills you practise as a child but you never expect to use on anything other than cheques. I had no idea signing sessions would become such a large part of my life later on.

Jon was amazing with fans – he never felt more comfortable. I don’t know how he did it. I love meeting new people and having conversations but, to this day, there’s something unnerving about having a conversation with someone who knows so much about you when you don’t even know their name – especially when you’ve just popped out to buy a pint of milk.