Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

being able to see their faces always makes villains seem more sinister – at least that was the theory. But every time these scary savages had to stagger up the hill, one of them would tread on their costume and you’d see a surprised head pop through the hood.

There was a nice feel to the whole shoot, I have to say. A lot of that, I think, came from Jon getting on better with this particular director than he had with Paddy. Jon was a bit like Bagpuss in that respect. If he was having a good day, then everyone would, too.

Michael E. Briant had directed The Green Death among others and he knew how to get the best out of Jon. When it came to it, I can’t say I felt a similar bond – he really didn’t seem interested in much to do with Sarah Jane at all.

Some of Michael’s techniques with his star were a little off-the-wall, though. I remember one chilly day us being lined up for a shot when he looked at me and said, ‘Lis, give Jon a slap, would you?’

Well, that’s not in the script, I thought.

Jon virtually did a double-take. ‘Why would Sarah Jane slap me?’ he spluttered. ‘We’re great friends.’

‘I know you are, Jon,’ the director laughed, ‘but your face is turning blue.’

Actually, there was one occasion when we did actually slap each other for real. Jon loved diving and had spent a lot of time in the South Seas. His house was full of bits and pieces plucked from the seabed. When he was drunk he would sometimes tell bawdy stories from his trips over there. I always assumed he was joking but one day I made the mistake of referring to one of his tall tales when we were both sober. That was it – his hand went smack across my face!

Well, he got a slap straight back.

Safe to say, although we immediately kissed and made up, that was probably the lowest point in our relationship, but I guess he had been telling the truth.

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God it was cold, but being in a quarry in Dorset in mid-November, what did we expect? There were no Winnebagoes or trailers to hide from the elements in those days. Any spare half hours and I’d smuggle myself onto the bus for a nap or just to warm up.

Just when I thought I couldn’t bear the temperature any more, Michael announced the final scene of the shoot. I’d been dreading this. It was bad enough being out there in Sarah Jane’s suit but now I’d have to do it in a bikini!

The last Dinosaurs episode ended with the Doctor promising to take me to the holiday planet of Florana, so as Daleks begins I’m all set to go with swimming togs, lilo and parasol. I know Sarah Jane is meant to be striking a blow for feminists across the universe, but I was actually quite excited by the idea (it’s nice to be a bit playful with a character every now and again). It was my idea to have a beach ball, I remember – I thought that could be fun – and I didn’t mind being asked to put a swimsuit on. I just thought, I must remember to shave my legs!

Most of those scenes were filmed later in the studio but first we had to capture me exiting the TARDIS, dressed – that’s right – for 100 degrees, not 30. Anyone who thinks acting is all lipstick and glamour should really think again. As there was no way I was leaving the hotel dressed like that, I had to get changed on the bus. Heating systems on coaches in 1973 left a lot to be desired, let me tell you. Even worse, I had to stand semi-naked for ages while they hosed me with fake tan – a hideous experience to end a pretty good week.

*   *   *

I always enjoyed the camaraderie of location shoots and everyone being at the same hotels, eating at the same restaurants and sharing the same buses. You don’t always get on with everyone but there are enough people around for you all to have your own friends.

After a week away, however, it was still a relief to get back to the home comforts of London where even the relentless slog of the rehearse, record, rehearse, record at North Acton seemed quite welcome. Before we got going at the read-through, however, Barry had some news – and it wasn’t good.

‘I just wanted to let you all know that this will be my last series as producer,’ he announced. ‘It’s time to move on to other things.’

Oh my God! We all sat there in shock. As far as I was concerned, Barry was Doctor Who. Jon might be the star, but Barry was the programme. Barry had overseen the show’s transfer into colour, he had forced the Corporation to investigate and then adopt the latest Colour Separation Overlay techniques. Thanks to his close relationship with Terry Dicks he had also influenced and written storylines, and had even directed several episodes. His influence was truly extraordinary. And, of course, he had created Sarah Jane Smith and cast me in the role. What a great decision that was!

Barry wasn’t the only hole we had to plug. Terry Dicks had announced his departure some months earlier and his successor, Robert Holmes, had been shadowing him for a while now. Rumour has it that it was Robert’s idea to call our current serial Death to the Daleks out of pure wishful thinking because he hated them so much. Robert, of course, wrote The Time Warrior, so I had a lot to thank him for. He could have turned my character any which way (although I’m sure Barry kept a very close eye).

I liked Robert. We both enjoyed all things gothic. Over the coming months I drew comfort from spying him in the wings, pipe in mouth, very tall, very upright, but always nodding, like a dog rocking in the back of a car. You always felt brainy in his presence, he just oozed quiet confidence. I’d sometimes go and stand by him just to feel his strength.

‘Hello, Robert.’

‘How are we, girl?’

‘Fine, fine.’

‘How’s the work today?’

‘Fine, fine.’

He and Terry were chalk and cheese. Whereas Robert was extremely contained, the thinking man with the pipe like his namesake, Sherlock, Terry was so ebullient, so funny and so very open. When we went to the fortieth