Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

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Since the start of the year all the buzz around the BBC had been ‘Who will be the next Doctor Who?’ When the announcement of Jon’s retirement went public that speculation burst into overdrive. At one point every Tom, Dick and Harry seemed to be in the running. I tried to keep on top of developments because obviously it affected me more than most, but work on Peladon meant my information was occasionally behind the times. And obviously the lid was being kept very tight on this particular secret.

As I recall, Tommy Steele was seriously mentioned at one point. And Carry On’s Jim Dale – it would have been nice to make him apologise for nearly running me over all those years ago! Richard Hearne was another one. He was famous at the time for comedy character Mr Pastry but, so the story goes, he wanted to play the Doctor in the same style. Can you imagine? Fortunately, Barry couldn’t and they continued the search. Years later I met Ron Moody, the original Fagin, in Los Angeles. Ron had worked with Brian in a TV play called Village Hall so he came straight out with it. ‘They offered me the part,’ he said. ‘They offered me it after Troughton and after Pertwee and each time I said no.’ He looked me straight in the eye.

‘Biggest mistake of my life.’

Then one day Barry bounded over, full of energy. I remember exactly the spot where I was standing.

‘We have got the most perfect Doctor for you, Lis. Have you heard of Tom Baker?’

The name rang a bell but I couldn’t place it.

‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t think so.’

Barry wasn’t fazed in the slightest.

‘Well, you might have seen him in–’

And then it came to me.

‘Rasputin! Yes, I do know him. Wonderful. Wonderful!’

Barry vanished as suddenly as he’d arrived – off to spread the news further, probably. And I was left to ponder my future with this strange wide-eyed actor with the slightly beak-faced stare. Interesting, I thought, very, very interesting.

I don’t know how Jon took the news – I presume he was told at some point before the press announcement but I never felt comfortable discussing it with him. What I can say is that I wasn’t looking forward to our first days of studio shooting. I don’t know if it was intentional, to get it out of the way, or whether the schedule just worked out that way, but out of a six-episode show, Jon’s regeneration scene with his successor was to be filmed in the first batch.

The day arrived and we all pitched up as usual. Hair, costume, bit of slap every now and then as you went along – the same old pattern. Everyone tried to pretend nothing out of the ordinary was going on, which was so hard because we all knew things would never be the same again. This was the day I had to say goodbye to my Doctor. I was trembling at the prospect; I can’t imagine how he must have been feeling.

Those moments of Jon lying there in the lab will stay with me. It was so poignant. In a way I’d sort of delivered my elegy during Peladon when I thought he’d died then: ‘I still can’t believe it – I can’t believe that he’s dead. You see, he was the most alive person I ever met!’ This time, of course, it was Jon who uttered the immortal lines: ‘A tear, Sarah Jane?’ If I had a pound for every time those words are quoted back to me. (Although it’s not the most common quote. I’ll let you guess what that is.)

There were no real tears, certainly not from Jon. In fact, there was no emotion at all. One minute I was hunched over his body, sobbing at the Doctor’s death, then as soon as we heard ‘Cut!’ he leapt to his feet, nearly knocking me over. And he did so completely wordlessly, just pulled himself up, dusted his clothes down, then strolled off. It was quite eerie. A minute later another figure was lying down to take his place: Tom Baker had arrived.

The whole regeneration was such a cold affair. Tom simply dashed in and back out again because he was already rehearsing for his debut story. And Jon – well, I don’t know what was going through his mind, exactly, except that he refused to be in the same room with his successor. In fact they didn’t exchange a single, solitary word. A pity, I thought, a very great pity.

After that the mood back at Acton was very different. The penny had finally dropped, I think. Jon was leaving – and the show was carrying on. I know later on David found handing over to Matt Smith harder than he’d possibly imagined. From star to history in a matter of seconds; it’s a phenomenal fall. No other show does this to an actor.

And Jon, of course, with every day that passed, was wishing he could jump into the TARDIS for real and turn back the clocks. Yes, he was getting tired of the physical stresses on his body; yes, he could do without the fights with directors and yes, he honestly believed he deserved more money, but were those things worth giving up his beloved Who for? The answer, he had realised with a sickening thump, was no. By the time he admitted it to himself, though, it was too late.

‘Are you all right, Jon?’ I asked as he arrived at Acton the morning after regenerating.

‘Don’t you worry about me. I’m fine.’

But he didn’t look fine. In fact, the first chance he got, he dragged a table and chair over to the far end of our massive rehearsal room, then methodically began going through his fan mail. Hundreds of letters and cards, and one by one he replied to them all. He still joined us for tea breaks and lunch, he wasn’t avoiding anyone, but whenever the Doctor wasn’t required for a scene, he threw himself back into his paperwork. I don’t know if he wanted to remind himself how popular he was, or whether he just needed to get all Who correspondence out of the way by the time he left – he probably wanted a clean break.

It was so sad to watch and it must have been killing him not to be involved in what we were all doing as well. We were so used to Jon buzzing around, encouraging or giving notes or saying, ‘Maybe try it like this …’ even when he wasn’t in a scene. He could be so annoying, I admit, but Jon was also our chief cheerleader. Without him it all felt a bit empty.

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It’s strange how things work out. A couple of days after the crushing low of recording his own death scene while still having to concentrate on the rest of the serial, Jon was thrown a nice little fillip. The BBC had licensed a