Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

course the writers occasionally had other ideas. In The Monster of Peladon, for example, the Doctor actually orders Sarah Jane to give the Queen the full ‘Women’s Lib’ lecture, no punches pulled. The irony of male writers getting a male character to ‘order’ a woman to talk about feminism wasn’t lost on me. And when the adorable Ian Marter (Dr Harry Sullivan) joined the show, the gender battle became even more overt, although always playful.

All Barry had said to me, however, was, ‘We want Sarah to be very much her own person, someone of today, with her own job, and always questioning everything.’ That’s what I worked with.

So, Sarah Jane was a journalist, a woman with her own mind and her own private income. She was confident, resourceful and inquisitive – to the point of being nosey. Now the most important question: what would she wear?

I got a call from Jim Acheson, the show’s costume designer.

‘We need to take you shopping. Sarah Jane needs some clothes.’

That made a change. So often I’ve appeared on stage or screen wearing my own things. It was refreshing to think they actually wanted to spend a few bob on making my character look a specific way.

Jim Acheson has gone on to greater things, of course, winning Best Costume Oscars for Restoration, Dangerous Liaisons and The Last Emperor. He is such a talent, and always did such stunning work. His are the only aliens you could photograph from the back – the attention to detail was spot-on. I was just getting my head around the character, so it was a relief when he said, ‘Come on, we’re going to Biba.’

Being dragged round all the trendiest stores by your own personal shopper is such a blast. Jim was my own Gok Wan for the day. He had his own fix on how Sarah Jane should look, so he’d wander around, scanning the racks, then suddenly appear at my side with an armful of potential outfits. Time, ironically considering my new job, was against us and the queues for the changing rooms were horrendous. I remember Jim’s face in Biba when I said to him, ‘Stand still for a moment’, then whipped my clothes off.

‘You can’t do that!’

By then I was pulling a new dress over my head.

Any modesty I had was long gone. When you’ve been a dancer or appeared in any sort of theatrical production, you’re used to quick changes but Jim had kittens every time. I think he envisaged newspaper headlines about their new star caught in her undies in public. But I didn’t give that a thought. Who’d be interested in little old me? I was just another girl in a shop.

Like the shopping expedition, everything happened at such a whirlwind pace. I signed my contract on 3 May – for twenty-six episodes – and four days later I was on a train heading towards Manchester.

My life in Doctor Who had begun.

*   *   *

I’m sure the rest of the cast had already done a table read-through, but casting for Sarah Jane was so far behind schedule that I missed out on that. I was starting cold. My introduction to the serial called The Time Warrior would take place on location in Cheshire. Fortunately I gleaned a bit of inside info on the way up. Brian had worked with Kevin Lindsay, a typically colourful Australian actor, in Watford and they got on well. When we discovered Kevin was also in The Time Warrior – as Linx, the Time Warrior himself, no less – Brian arranged for us to travel together. Typical Aussie, he was so relaxed, which was just what I needed.

‘I’m terrified,’ I confessed.

‘Course you are. But stick with me, girl, we’re going to have fun!’

I believed him – Kevin could give a dying man confidence.

We arrived late afternoon and made our way to the hotel, a charming old coaching inn. It was quite a period place, all slanted floors and low beams, but my bed was comfortable and there was hot water for a bath. That was more of a luxury than I realised.

Soon it was time to go downstairs. The crew and cast were assembling in the hotel bar. This was it, my big entrance into the world – the universe – of Doctor Who. I’d been in enough shows with enough companies not to be anxious about joining another one, but something about this particular programme made me feel nervous. Like Coronation Street, everyone was so established in their roles. Would I fit in?

Only one way to find out …

The bar area was already full, although I didn’t recognise a soul. Then I spotted Jon Pertwee at the bar. A quick double-take and he recognised me.

‘Lissie!’

His booming voice carried across the room and two-dozen heads swivelled my way. Well, if they didn’t know me already, they did now. It was embarrassing at the time but actually it got all the introductions out of the way early on. Kevin and Jim Acheson appeared out of the throng and showed me off around the room. It was such a blur but everyone was friendly.

Finally I found my way to the bar where Jon was waiting. He gave me a great big hug, which was his seal of approval to the rest of the cast, I think, like a Roman emperor giving the thumbs-up sign.

Relaxed, he said, ‘Now, what would you like to drink, Katy?’

Katy?

I didn’t say anything – I didn’t need to. A second later Jon realised his error.

And burst into tears.

Oh Christ, I thought, what on earth have I signed up to here?

There’s not much you can do when the most important – and largest of life – character in the room breaks