Elisabeth Sladen: The Autobiography

There was no way I could do it. Mum had only recently died and Dad had never recovered. Every weekend I could, I caught the train up to be with him. I’d phoned him a couple of times from LA and he was anxious to see me again. There was no way I could stay away from him for a year.

Back in London Brian said I should go to the BBC and tell them about the merchandising opportunities available at ‘Whol’. ‘They’re selling calendars, photos – all the stuff the Beeb – and you! – should be making money from.’

So, fire in my belly after an amazing trip I made an appointment at BBC Enterprises, the Corporation’s commercial arm. ‘Look, do you realise how much money they’re making? We should be getting a slice of that,’ I told them. They virtually laughed me out of the building – I swear it was a case of, ‘Little Sarah Jane, what does she know?’ That’s honestly how I felt I was treated.

A year later they were knocking on my door. ‘What were you saying about us selling things over there?’ I could have screamed. By then the horse had bolted and the moment had gone, never to be recaptured. So long as Who was making money in the UK, they weren’t interested in it abroad – I’m convinced of that. But in America you can be popular one minute and gone the next, so you have to harness the moment. They missed it. If they hadn’t, maybe Who would never have been cancelled.

Despite any professional frustrations I was grateful to ‘Who1’ for two things: the first was magical friendships with Lucy and Amy (we’re still close today). Secondly, and probably more importantly career-wise, that weekend really reignited my love for Doctor Who. I’d never gone off it, never become one of those people who start laughing at the wobbly sets or too-earnest acting – I just assumed my moment had passed and my connection with it, too. I thought I’d put that chapter to bed in 1976, never to be reopened. But LA changed all of that. All the love I ever had for the show or the fans came flooding back. From that moment on it stopped being something I should run away from – I needed to embrace my Who past and my Who future.

I’m not saying this would have been enough to influence my meeting with John Nathan-Turner, but if I were asked to take part in something else, maybe the answer would be more positive.

*   *   *

Adverts were still a lucrative way of making a living. I remember receiving the booking for a Dulux paint commercial and I thought, That shouldn’t take long. Of course, I’d forgotten Dulux’s mascot was an Old English Sheepdog so of course I’d be acting with him – and dogs and I just do not get on! Back then anything to do with a dog seemed to involve the celebrity trainer Barbara Woodhouse and true to form, she was all over this. She reminded me of the canine version of Mary Whitehouse.

I was meant to lie on a sofa and this dog, Digby, had to come over and wake me up by pawing my arm. Fine.

We did the first take and I screamed. Digby’s claws had cut straight into my flesh.

‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘This dog is drawing blood!’

Woodhouse came bustling over. ‘Now, look,’ she tutted, ‘you wouldn’t find it very easy to balance on three legs, would you?’

‘Bloody hell!’ I said. ‘Can’t you cut its claws?’

Not one of my happier jobs.

Good times were just around the corner, though. Once again the setting was a place that had been kind to me on many an occasion. Yorkshire Television had enjoyed a successful debut year with Thora Hird and Christopher Beeney – In Loving Memory – and I was hired for the opening show of the second season. Thora was great pals with Keith Barron, so we had a mutual friend to laugh about. She was very funny, extremely dry and had us all in stitches when her replacement hip slowed her down.

‘I’ll be along in a minute, chuck,’ she’d say. ‘I’m sitting on steel here!’

Most of my scenes were with Christopher. I was Mary Bennett, his girlfriend, and so we found ourselves in a series of those gentle period courtship scenes. (I did panto with Chris a few years ago, so plenty of time for catching up and remembering Thora.)

It was a nice little job though not exactly lucrative. I was invited to come back for the Christmas Special but my agent said I could make more money elsewhere. I’d never really turned down parts on financial grounds before – it didn’t sit well at all.

There was slightly more money to be had elsewhere on ITV. A lovely director, Bill Bain, had put together a great cast for Name for the Day, part of the Play for Today strand. I played Jo, then we had super Richard O’Callaghan as my husband, Pauline Quirke as an asylum patient, and a gorgeous actor who used to have me in hysterics – Simon Cadell (I was so pleased for him when he became so successful in Hi-de-Hi!). I made great pals with Pauline – we went out together quite a lot and I even got an invite to her wedding, which was beautiful. We’ve lost touch, which is a shame, but I was so happy working with her.

The play itself upset me quite a bit. It was extremely wearing keeping a straight face among the chaos. Afterwards Bill Bain sent me a letter. He said, ‘It’s very hard playing the only straight character in a humorous play when everyone else is trying to be funny. Well done!’

People like Bill are few and far between. He didn’t have to send that note – he was just one of those people who are so kind and want to help others. And he reminded me so much of a certain someone else from my past – who was once again about to become very important to me.

It all began with a call from my agent.

‘Are you interested in playing Lady Flimnap on TV?’ he asked.

The name rang a bell. ‘Can you tell me anything else about it?’

‘I’m not sure what it is – it hasn’t been written properly yet. All I know is it’s from Gulliver’s Travels.’

‘Oh, I remember,’ I said. ‘She’s not exactly the star of it. Maybe I’ll pass on this one.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Todd. ‘Let me see what else I can dig up on it.’