Barry shook his head, smiling.
Talk about out of the blue! I’d had no idea that I was auditioning for such an important role. It was all a bit overwhelming: The badges, Jon’s celestial descent – and now this.
I realised I still hadn’t given an answer.
‘Yes!’ I gasped. ‘I’d love to.’
‘Excellent!’ Barry said. Anything that happened afterwards is a bit of a blur. All my tiredness from the night before seemed to catch up with me in one go. It was so much to take in.
Not everyone was knocked out by the news, though. When I rang my agent later that afternoon he had only one question:
‘Did you accept?’
‘Yes, of course.’
There was this great long pause then, ‘Christ, you could have let me talk money first!’
* * *
You don’t think about these things at times like that. There’s a lot I didn’t think about, actually. Some of it I should have spotted, other bits I never would have guessed. When eventually Barry told me the whole story of my audition I was shocked. I owed it all to …
Z-Cars?
It’s true. Katy Manning, who played Jo Grant, was leaving and so Barry had been quietly auditioning for a new companion. Eventually they thought they’d found the right girl, so they signed her up and began rehearsals. I can’t tell you who she was – I don’t think that would be fair. But I can say she didn’t get on with Jon. It just didn’t work between them, apparently. On-screen chemistry between the leads is so important – audiences have to believe in a relationship. It’s all very well saying anyone can play any part but it’s simply not true. If I were watching Romeo and Juliet on stage and Juliet was Sophie Dahl and Romeo was Jamie Cullum, I would find that unbelievable. Heavenly for them in real life and everything, but as a theatrical couple they’d be a mismatch.
And that was the problem with this girl. Evidently she was quite big – by which I mean very busty. If you’re spending half a show running along dark tunnels, that’s going to pose one or two problems. More importantly, I don’t think it’s unfair to say the Third Doctor’s character was exactly the sort who thrives on being surrounded by smaller women. Jon loved Katy because she’s mad as a hatter, warm and funny – but crucially she’s little. And I think Jon was the same as his Doctor in that respect. His personality, his very being, responded differently to having smaller girls around him and so it didn’t work out with Katy’s replacement. They paid her off, and started again.
Of course, by now they were behind schedule. All the production offices at the BBC are in the same building, most of them along the same corridor, so Barry literally stuck his head outside the Doctor Who room and yelled, ‘Look, does anyone know a girl who could play this part?’
Ron Craddock emerged from the Z-Cars office.
‘Have you seen Lis Sladen?’
‘No,’ said Barry. ‘Is she good?’
‘I think she’d be perfect. You should meet her.’
So that was it. I have Ron to thank for everything.
Apparently Jon had said, ‘Look, Barry, when you cast the next person, can I have a bit of a say?’
‘Of course, dear boy.’ Anything not to make waves! But, true to his word, once Barry had decided I was right for the part that’s when he wheeled me out in front of Jon at the Acton Hilton.
Looking back they must have had a good laugh at my expense. While I was being dazzled by Jon, quite literally, Barry was standing behind me with his thumb up. Meaning: ‘I think she’s great – what about you?’
They’d worked this code out beforehand.
Then when Jon had said goodbye to me, he’d walked behind me and given the same thumbs-up back.
‘Fine with me if she’s OK with you.’
The decision was done and dusted, there and then. And I was none the wiser to any of it.
Some things on Doctor Who have changed beyond all recognition over the years, while others have stayed the same. Secrecy concerning the series may have gone through the roof since Russell T Davies’ reboot, especially with information getting out so quickly on the Internet, but it was ever thus. I was bursting to tell the world about my new job but I was sworn to secrecy.
‘There’ll be a press call in due course,’ Barry said. ‘But for now, mum’s the word.’
Everything happened in a bit of a whirl after that. My character was to join in Season Eleven, but they wanted to film the first episode at the end of the last Season Ten recording block. That was only a fortnight away. I was sent a production note saying we’d be on location for a couple of days and then my first script arrived.
Normally this would be where you get all the background info on the character. Things like: she’s been molested by her father, she’s fifteen years old, she’s got one leg shorter than the other, some key detail that you can peg your performance on.
I opened it up and just saw the words: ‘Enter Sarah Jane.’
My worst nightmare – they want me to play myself!
After a long line of supposedly subservient female companions, Sarah Jane Smith was intended as the show’s nod towards the nascent Women’s Lib movement. I didn’t want to make a big thing of this, though, assuming the Doctor to be a more liberal thinker than 1970s Britons. As the only girl running around UNIT’s military set-up, Sarah Jane needed to make herself heard, but I figured this could be achieved simply by making her a strong character. Of 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.