Sladen, Elisabeth - Elisabeth Sladen - The Autobiography

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Fortunately, after a few years trapped in my own version of The Five Doctors ’ Death Zone, my non- Who career was beginning to pick up again. I was pleased to land a small part in a series called Men of the World . The regular cast was very strong: David Threlfall has appeared in Shameless and Harry Potter , while Brenda Bruce was in Paradise Towers with Sylvester, and John Simm of course was magnificent as the recent Master. I played Lorraine in an episode called Lost in France . My main memory of it is of not being stuck in a quarry. Such a relief!

I have to say, that show whetted my appetite for something more. If only Emmerdale hadn’t been offered so early, I’m ready for it now , I thought. The Emmerdale door was firmly closed at that moment but I did get the next best thing, give or take a few miles: Peak Practice .

I was actually a fan of the show when I was asked to audition. I’m not saying it’s quite like David Tennant being a Who aficionado from childhood, but I had a relationship with the programme before I walked in front of the casting director. I like castings, actually, because they’re usually quite near my house in London and they keep you honest – you either perform on the day or you don’t. Well, I was offered two episodes as Dr Pat Hewland and as they fell across Sadie’s summer holidays, we thought we’d all go up to the Peak District and enjoy a week together afterwards. It was a great idea – I loved that place. We stayed in a delightful bijou hotel, ate lamb cooked with lavender and just let our hair down. Even during filming I got to spend time with my family. We worked two days and off, three days and off, so it wasn’t as full-on as it might have been.

I say I was a fan – well, I had been of the original cast of Kevin Whately and Amanda Burton. I knew there was a different line-up for Series Four but I didn’t know who and I was thrown into it as soon as I arrived. At one point I was sitting at a desk, trying to establish a connection with this new actor, and I began to despair – he just wasn’t having any of it. This is going to be a long day , I thought. I’d just about had enough when he got up and left – it turned out he was a stand-in! When the real actor came in, we got on like a house on fire but they were doing so many episodes at the same time – literally running from one scene to another – that I suppose he’d been needed elsewhere, to get the lighting right, or something.

I admit it was quite hard work getting back into the groove, especially learning how people did things outside Who . Some of it was quite an eye opener – and not always for bad reasons. I couldn’t believe it when I was shown to my trailer.

My own trailer!

It wasn’t as hi-spec as the one I have on The Sarah Jane Adventures – nowadays I’ve got my own bed, and a microwave and even a shower – but it felt like a palace compared to the old days on Who . Just having somewhere to take your lunch other than squatting on damp hillocks, in makeup vans or under awnings made me feel like a superstar.

I was sad when it was over so when the call came for more episodes, I didn’t hesitate – ‘Just tell me when.’

Two days later, I was on the train back up to the Peak District.

This sudden change of fortunes ought to have sounded warning bells. By now it was all very chaotic and they seemed extremely behind. Reshoots were going on left, right and centre and the script I was posted told its own story (every time there’s a change it’s printed on different coloured paper). This was pink – way down the line. By the time I arrived I’d just about got it memorised – and then the buggers handed over an amended version.

Committing two separate speeches to memory is far easier than learning two versions of the same one – you get so confused, your tongue’s saying one version while your brain is remembering the other. I was still poring over it in makeup with a couple of the other actors when I heard one of them say, ‘It’s no good – I can’t learn this.’

‘Thank God for that!’ I said. ‘I can’t make it stick either.’

Not surprisingly we had a lot of trouble that day. It didn’t help that the cameramen wouldn’t stop talking to me about Doctor Who ! I was shoving rescue remedy down my throat and grabbing my script in between takes. During one seated scene all three of us had our scripts out of shot on our laps so we could snatch an emergency peek!

I had fun but it wasn’t the big comeback I perhaps needed to boot me up the backside and get me back out there. In fact after that, I only took one more stab at acting, in a series called Faith in the Future with Lynda Bellingham – then I just thought, Do you know what? I’ve had a go, I’ve been busy, but I haven’t really enjoyed it.

And so I retired.

Goodbye work. Goodbye acting. And goodbye Doctor Who .

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Knowing I wouldn’t be working again made it more fun to spend time with my old Who cohorts. In 1996 I bumped into Jon at an event organised by Nathan-Turner. Jon was in his mid-70s by then, but he looked well. He was on good form, too – cheeky, chatty and brimming with gossip as usual. We had a marvellous time reminiscing about this and that, at ease without any work pressures hanging over us. Among other things I remember he was very excited about going to stay with friends over in New England. Then at one point he leaned in and I thought, This must be good if he’s lowering his voice! Jon was hardly discreet.

But this time the gossip was about him: ‘By the way, I had a little crie de coeur recently.’

That floored me.

‘Oh, Jon, I didn’t know you had heart trouble!’

‘It’s nothing, darling,’ he said, dismissing my concern with a wave of his hand. ‘Just a little warning.’

That was the last time I saw him.

A few weeks later I got home and saw my answerphone flashing. I was still taking off my coat and unpacking my bags when I flicked ‘play’, but the message soon had my full attention.

I recognised the voice instantly as Stuart Money, a close friend of Jon’s.

‘Hello, Lissie, it’s Stuey,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way to the airport. It’s about Jon. I will talk to you later but I think you’re going to get quite a shock.’

I sat by that phone for the rest of the day – if anyone else called I just told them to get off the line. And then my worst fears were confirmed: Jon had suffered a heart attack in America.

My Doctor was dead.

I went to the funeral. Sadie sent a little something, too. But do you know who wasn’t there? Barry! No one had told him. Incredible. He was devastated, of course.

The problem with being in the public eye is you’re not given a chance to grieve. Every time I thought that I was over the shock another journalist would pop up asking for a comment. I don’t normally mind, but I wanted to do the best by Jon and I also wanted to be alone and cry.

It wasn’t until I did manage a few minutes alone with my thoughts that I appreciated just how much we’d experienced together. All the shows, obviously, but there were so many private moments, too. Even our big US trip – yes, Brian and Ingeborg were there and we all had a blast – but there were only two people up on those stages. Jon was the only one who knew what I’d gone through first hand. And now he was gone.

Jon’s legacy speaks for itself, but all these years later I do get annoyed at the number of people popping out of the woodwork to tell you how Jon was, what he thought, and what he apparently said to them. There are certain DVD commentaries where the world and his wife seem to have an opinion and I find myself shouting at the screen, ‘How do you know? You weren’t there!’ Some of them weren’t even born at the time, for goodness’ sake.