Sladen, Elisabeth - Elisabeth Sladen - The Autobiography

I had to go for it. The boat rammed against the rock and I leapt for it. Stupid things go through your head at times like this. I remember thinking, I must keep my head up – I need these false eyelashes for the close-ups! Self-preservation kicked in. I found myself treading water, something I’d never been able to do before. A second later I felt Terry’s arms again. Before I knew it he’d pulled me to safety. The boat, on the other hand, was never seen again.

We were both whisked to hospital for jabs. I was OK, a bit shaken. Terry, I think, was quite ill later. Back at the hotel I had a bath, still pretty comatose, then made my way down to the bar. After an experience like that I just wanted company, to feel alive. I was sitting at a table, chatting, when I saw Michael enter. He was standing at the bar and I heard him say, ‘Oh, Lis is back. I should really go over and apologise.’

Yes, you bloody should! I thought.

By the time he did mosey over, after everyone else, I could barely speak to him. I was so angry. By contrast, Terry hunted me out as soon as he arrived.

‘Hello, Sladen. That was bloody stupid!’

He was right – I only had myself to blame. Always trust your instincts …

* * *

Although Tom never billed himself as the show’s number one, that’s obviously what he was. Ian and I were definitely in the silver and bronze positions as far as the production team was concerned. If Tom had an idea on set, of course he would be listened to more than we would. It might be the craziest, most useless brainwave ever, but because it was him, the director and team would consider it. Obviously Tom did have good ideas and they were always fun, but he wasn’t always right. Ian and I knew the score and, because we lived near each other in Ealing, we used to laugh about it on the Tube home.

Really, Tom was such a blast to work with. So many of the stresses of toeing the line of the old regime just peeled away. I may have been the Doctor’s ‘assistant’, as he describes me to the Duke in Terror of the Zygons , but in Tom’s eyes we were equal. There was no proprietorial hand around the neck, no subtext to any of his suggestions, no accusations of ‘women’s problems’ if we disagreed, just good, honest collaboration – we were in this together.

That’s not to say we were the best of friends. I never saw Tom outside work. We don’t actually have that much in common. When we were rehearsing, Tom would quite often go to the pub at lunchtime. He wasn’t the only one. You’d go in there and bump into all sorts of faces, people from The Onedin Line , whatever the BBC had in production at the time. There are only so many days in a row you can bear going to the canteen, so people would nip out for a cheese sandwich and a pint. That wasn’t me, though – I never got that claustrophobic sense of being cooped up all day in Acton. I liked having a decent lunch, whether it was on my own or not.

After filming was another matter. Then you’d have a struggle to keep me away from the bar. It was such a release after a day’s stresses and I think the camaraderie was helped with everyone piling into the pub together. And it was exactly the same as up at Tommy Duck’s in Manchester – you’d shoot the breeze, unwind, relive the highlights and get things off your chest. I think if you didn’t take part you’d feel like you were missing out.

We were so unused to seeing each other outside of the BBC’s walls that on the rare occasions when we did bump into each other it got quite awkward. I remember running into Tom and his partner Marianne on Regent Street once.

‘Ah, Lis,’ he gushed, unusually flustered. ‘Would you care for a Guinness?’

Before I could answer he’d changed his mind.

‘No, no – a coat! Let’s go to Harrod’s, I must buy you a fur coat!’

‘It’s OK, Tom, I don’t need a coat.’

‘But he really wants to buy you one,’ Marianne insisted. ‘You must let him.’

What a hysterical pair! They were obviously well suited. But I didn’t get that coat – or a Guinness.

Tom could drink, no question about that, and over the years he won a well-earned reputation as an old-fashioned carouser. He showed glimpses of this after a serial wrapped, when he always insisted on sharing a pint or two with the director and his team. But was work ever affected? Not one per cent; he never brought it onto the set. The only thing he did bring was the occasional bottle of lemonade on the bus in the morning; that was the only clue he’d had a good night. But I’ve never met anyone who was better at holding his drink – Tom never let you down.

Ian was a terrific friend to me but there was an innate connection between him and Tom. You just get this between some people. They hadn’t known each other too long when they concocted the idea of writing a film – Doctor Who Meets Scratchman . And they had it all worked out. Vincent Price would play the villain and it would concern scarecrows that came to life. David Maloney, one of Tom’s favourite directors, was slated to direct.

I don’t know how far down the line they actually got because I wasn’t that involved in it. They’d grab spare moments in rehearsal, put their heads together walking back to set, or, occasionally, go for dinner. You’d hear these animated discussions: ‘Yes, that’s good.’ I’d toddle over to them, uninvited, and witter a few things. Then, bored, I’d wander off to talk to someone else. I wasn’t terribly interested in being involved, nor was I asked, although Tom said I definitely would be when it was filmed.

‘What about this? He’ll be a scarecrow and he’ll have a basket, and I could ride in it and you could pedal me down the hill.’

‘No, I’ll ride down the hill with Elisabeth in the basket!’

‘What about if …’

And so it went on.

At some point they even went away for a week abroad where Maloney had a place. I wasn’t there but I did hear that things didn’t go quite to plan. For a start, Tom nearly drowned in the pool. Ian and Maloney saw him splashing around and just laughed. ‘There’s Tom clowning around as usual.’

Eventually Maloney’s small daughter dragged him out!

‘Without her, Lis, I’d be a goner,’ Tom confessed.

* * *

David Maloney may not have been hired for Scratchman in the end – sadly the whole project never got off the ground – but he was the director of our next serial. Genesis of the Daleks was again written by Terry Nation and this time dealt with the origins of the Doctor’s deadliest foes. It was actually drawn out into a six-parter, which could be a little wearing on momentum. How many cliffhangers can you squeeze out of one story? But I think this one was a classic – some really great writing expertly dealt with.

Maloney has to take a large slice of the credit. I would have been happy to work with him every time because he made it such fun. It wasn’t just another commission for him: he had such a handle on how things should be, on the camaraderie at the heart of a programme like this. I just remember him and Tom, Ian and me having a laugh and really going for it.

The talent on Genesis was extraordinary. David Spode’s sets were incredible, Sylvia and Barbara achieved wonders with makeup and costume – and then there were the actors. We had Peter Miles as Nyder, Richard Reeves and Dennis Chinnery – all excellent. But the star of the show, I have to say, was Michael Wisher. It was the third time I’d worked with him – and the third time he’d performed in almost total disguise. On Death to the Daleks he’d just supplied the voices. As a Vogan in Revenge of the Cybermen he’d been covered in prosthetics. Now, as Davros, the creator of the Daleks, he was stuck under a mask made by John Friedlander, who had also worked on Death to the Daleks .