Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

so some days Julia would come into rehearsal and yell at us for no reason. Or so I thought, but it was because he’d annoyed her at home. I remember the first time she tore into me – just bollocked me in front of everyone because I wasn’t doing exactly what she wanted – and I wanted to burst into tears. But her PA, the chap you’d call a ‘First’ today, came over afterwards and said, ‘It’s not your fault. She’s having a bad day.’

The PA’s name was George Gallaccio and we became really tight friends. He was a jolly, even-tempered sort, which I like, and I was delighted later on when I bumped into him again on the set of Invasion of the Dinosaurs. In fact, by the time Tom Baker joined Who, George was production manager for the show. If you needed money for something, he was the one you had to persuade.

Someone sent me a copy of this episode recently – God knows where they found it, because I thought so many of these things were lost. But there’s one scene which I just love watching, of me and John Collin. There’s this cream cake and all that matters to him is that he wants the cake. It’s fascinating to witness. Of course it’s very difficult to talk with food in your mouth but he was all over it. I’m sure this sounds disgusting, but it’s a terrifically powerful scene, one of my favourites.

After the one-woman ordeal that was Julia Smith it was a relief to head for the airport and Toronto. At least I thought it would be. In fact, the plane jumped all over the place the whole way, like a toy being pawed by a kitten, and by the time we finally landed I was a nervous wreck. My fear of flying started there and then.

Toronto was a beautiful city and, just as I had done in London, I wandered all over the place, simply exploring. And with no rehearsals or any other prep during the day, Brian was able to join me. At nights I’d either watch television in the hotel or go to see another show. It was quite idyllic.

While Brian and I were happy to saunter around the local area, Robert Morley, of course, had grander plans. Morley loved gambling and thought nothing of hopping onto a plane for a day trip to the casinos of Vegas. He was always back for curtain call, sometimes only just, but imagine poor Peter Bridge’s nerves every time he disappeared.

The only thing worse than losing your star is to lose the entire show, and that nearly happened, too. Morley – of course – invited the whole company for a day trip to Niagara Falls. What fun! We looked so funny, like giant penguins, smothered in black water-proofs as we darted underneath the torrents. It was so slippery and of course Morley couldn’t help dashing up and down, ‘Ho, ho’-ing in glee. Suddenly we’d hear a thunderous, ‘Whoops, nearly went there!’ But then he’d be laughing again against the deafening roar of water. I don’t know how much of it was for Peter’s benefit but the producer had his hands in his mouth the whole time.

‘He’s going over, he’s going to fall. This is it. Oh my God!’

Just when Peter thought his torment was over, Morley marched us all over to the cable car which stretches across the widest part of the river. I loved it, but gosh it was a rickety ride! The wind was howling, the whirlpool below crashing spray up and we seemed to be boinging all over the place like a conker on a string. Peter looked terrified enough – until I saw Brian, completely green. I’d forgotten how much he dislikes heights. Just taking an express elevator in Toronto had been enough to floor him.

Morley did so much for us. He took us to lunch in Niagara with his friend Paul, the brother of David Tomlinson – Mr Banks from Mary Poppins – and it was such a pleasure to hear those old hands rattling away. The Skylon restaurant was at the top of a tower and as you ate it revolved so you could see for miles. Of course, poor Brian hated it.

We were always scratching our heads for ways to pay Morley back, but when someone is so patrician and controlling, not to mention rich, you rarely get the chance. But when we visited an old pioneer village and saw him wandering around on his own we invited him to join us for once. Ever the gentleman, he wouldn’t intrude.

‘Come on, Robert,’ I insisted. ‘Have some pie.’ Eventually he agreed and we had a marvellous afternoon. It was nice to treat him.

Neither Brian nor I had anything to rush back for when the show ended and as we both love travelling we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see more of America. Brian discovered this great Greyhound deal – unlimited bus travel for three weeks for $100, or about ?40 at the time – and so off we went.

Lucky we were young, that’s all I can say. I always thought a Greyhound tour would be quite romantic. In fact, the Greyhound stops are invariably in the crummiest part of town, which doesn’t make your introduction to new cities particularly welcoming – that’s if your husband lets you see them. I quite fancied a wander around Texas but Brian let me sleep through the stop in Amarillo.

San Francisco was our intended destination. Their streetcars were so emblematic of the city, and seeing where Steve McQueen had driven in Bullitt was brilliant. Alcatraz Prison was another site from the movies we enjoyed, but looking across to the harbour, my smile suddenly vanished as I recalled my own family’s connection with the place. I thought about how it must have been for Grandpa in 1906, staring at San Francisco from the safety of The Lonsdale, watching as that beautiful city was devastated by an earthquake.

Eventually we made it to LA, which, for a film fan and an actor, is the dream holiday destination. Standing there, outside the studio gates where all those stars had driven in, felt magical. Doing the studio tour just made my mouth fall open – all the glitter of the industry, all the stardust of the past, was right there. It sent a tingle through me. At moments like this you forget you’re in the same industry.

*   *   *

Back in England it was business as usual. Brian joined another play and I did a couple of parts in police shows like Special Branch and Public Eye plus a few ads. Then Todd Joseph rang to discuss a possible lead in a new TV series and I leapt at it.

But thank God I didn’t get the part.

Surprisingly, Todd hadn’t found me this audition – the programme’s producer, Michael Mills, had actually asked to see me. After so long feeling out of my depth in London I thought, Maybe I am getting somewhere.

The meeting was at the BBC, right at the top of White City where the hoi polloi aren’t usually allowed. That was an honour in itself, just being invited up there instead of dashing off to Threshold House. I got on well with Mills and, if I had to put money on it, I would have thought the part was mine. It was only after I left that word arrived that I had missed out to Michele Dotrice. That was a shame, of course, especially as I’d got on so well with Mills, but he rang me personally and said there was a part in the fifth episode of the series if I wanted it.

A lot of actors, I’m sure, would have told him where to stick it if they’d been downgraded from star to walk-on part, but I said yes. Mills was nice – he was soon to be married to a beautiful actress called Valerie Leon, with whom Brian had worked on a Hai Karate aftershave advert. The work imperative in me overruled everything else. Looking back, the episode just showed me how lucky an escape I’d had.