Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

Welcome to the wonderful world of TV.

I got into my costume and the director introduced me to Patrick and John Wood.

‘John’s your boyfriend, Patrick’s your father-in-law. Now just stand there.’

And that was it. No script, no lines, and no discussion about characterisation. I was plonked in front of the camera, the director called ‘Action!’ and Patrick Wymark started screaming three inches from my face.

It was a joke, it really was. I didn’t have a clue what to do. I didn’t know if I should look scared or defiant or amused or angry. I didn’t know anything about the character or how she should react or what on earth her father- in-law was mad about. I wasn’t sure what expressions I should be giving. There was no direction at all.

All I knew was I couldn’t wait to get back to the Library, back to proper acting.

I swore I’d never set foot in Granada’s studios again. Then Margaret Crawford rang back. They’d been delighted with me. I’ve no idea why. ‘We’ve got a speaking role in another Playhouse episode,’ she said. ‘Will you do it?’

Go back to that place? It was acting. Of course I would do it.

This one was called If Only the Trains Come, based on the Chekhov story Ward Six, and I played a hotel maid. This time I had some lines – and a script! Barry Davis was a very pleasant director, so refreshing after my last experience, and it starred Bernard Archard, who of course was so crucial in the Doctor Who story Pyramids of Mars later.

I don’t think I even told my parents about the first play. This one, on the other hand, they really looked forward to watching. I’m sure if you blinked you’d have missed me but, bless them, they said it was a triumph.

But I wouldn’t know – I was on stage when it was broadcast. I remember friends and neighbours telling me that I must have been so sad to miss it. I had to laugh. Coming from theatre, you get used to never seeing your own performances.

I learned so much at the Library under Tony and got some nice reviews as well. All the broadsheets sent their critics up so every opening night we had people like Michael Billington, Keith Nurse and Robin Thornber with their pens poised. The Telegraph said I had ‘some highly effective moments’ as Mary Warren in The Crucible; the Guardian said of my part in Mother Courage: ‘Elisabeth Sladen, as usual, puts everything into the rewarding role of the dumb Kattrin’, while Simon Hoggart, writing even back then for The Times, reviewed The Plough and the Stars by saying, ‘Of a remarkable cast, the best is Elisabeth Sladen’. Mum and Dad were prouder than I was but I kept everything in my audition book to show prospective employers. It never hurts to have nice crits.

Tony was such a marvellous friend and important figure in our lives that it made perfect sense when Brian asked him to be the best man at our wedding on 8 June 1968. We’d been engaged for a year by then. I don’t think it surprised anyone when we decided to make our relationship formal. There was no song and dance. Brian did the old-fashioned thing and asked Dad for my hand, which was the easy part. He then had to find the ring that I’d already identified – sort of. I love Jane Fonda, and when I saw her in a film called La Ronde, wearing this fabulous aquamarine band with two diamonds, I said, ‘That’s the ring I want.’ Poor Brian spent days looking for the right one.

We were such a tight-knit company at Manchester. I think if you asked any of us we’d all agree it was the happiest time of our lives. Warren Clarke had joined us from Liverpool as well and he was so funny – you’ll always have a good time with him around. He actually got married a few days before us, to Gail, a sweet little girl, and of course we all went along to the wedding and a week later they attended ours. We were like family.

All the arrangements for the wedding were done on our weekend visits to Liverpool. I realise now that I must have loved playing Desdemona so much my wedding dress looked just like hers. It would have been cheaper to use the same one!

Typical Brian refused to wear tails, which my parents didn’t like at all. Everyone else was in their finery and he strolled up in a normal pin-striped two-piece. He said, ‘No, I’m having this suit and that’s the end of it.’ I thought he looked lovely, though.

For my entrance song, we went back to another important play in our lives. Twelfth Night was where Brian and I had first met on stage, so we chose the clown’s song, ‘O, Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming?’ and hired the choir to sing it. A couple of nights before the wedding, the vicar rang my mother. He said, ‘You can’t have that song.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘The words are rather suggestive – and this is a holy occasion.’

Mum wasn’t having any of that.

‘Well, we’ve paid for the choir now – they’ll just have to hum it!’

So that’s what they did. I couldn’t help smiling as I came down the aisle, on Dad’s arm, accompanied by my young second cousin, Jane Palmer as she was then, on one side, and my old Saturday drama friend from when we were both five, Lizzie Gay, on the other.

The reception was at Dovedale Towers in Penny Lane. Afterwards we all went back to the house. Uncle Bill was still living there and he and a cousin had festooned the place with this exquisite display of petits fours and flowers. It was so moving to see everyone crammed into that house for us. We’ve got a grainy old piece of film somewhere that shows guests hanging out of windows and one of them, an actor friend Ray Lonnen, stumbling around the road pretending to be drunk. We showed it to Sadie a while ago. She was horrified!

The photos are pretty funny as well. There’s one woman in every shot and nobody has a clue who she is – I think she must have been a professional wedding crasher. No one noticed on the day. I suppose that’s how she got away with it.

For our honeymoon we flew by Pan Am to New York. This was before the era of budget airlines, although we were certainly watching the pennies. Anywhere that was free, we went: the Guggenheim, Central Park, walking all over the place. The day after we were in the Park, some neo-Nazi guy went on the rampage with a gun. I think he killed two people before the police got him. That must have been horrific but even after that we never felt unsafe – although in my case that was more naivety than anything else. Sometimes, though, I wonder if Brian just liked walking on the wild side. We saw quite a bit of off-off-Broadway, and I remember him one day suggesting we see a