Some of them took the teamwork too far, I realised, when I finished a scene and sighed, ‘I could murder an orange now.’ Half an hour later Robin Stubbs appeared next to me – clutching a bag of Jaffas.
‘There you go, Lis.’
I was dumbfounded.
‘Where did you get those from?’
‘The shop,’ Robin replied. ‘In town.’
I must have looked pretty vacant.
‘You asked for some. It’s my job to get them.’
I’ve never felt so ashamed – I couldn’t apologise enough but Robin just kept saying it was his job to look after the stars. Well, that simply made it worse. I didn’t feel like a star. In fact I didn’t want to be one, I never had: I wanted to be an actress, that’s all. And if that meant fetching my own oranges, it was just dandy.
It took me a while to get used to being looked after like that. I remember getting a similar shock when I worked with David Tennant on School Reunion. It was another rainy day – that’s Cardiff for you – and this kind fellow held out a brolly for me. I thought, Oh, the perks of being part of a successful series! As I went to take it, he wouldn’t let me.
‘No, this is my job, Lis,’ he said, and just stood there holding it for me.
I must admit, I find those things a little easier to accept these days, but before any accusations of ‘pampered star’ rain down – excuse the pun – you can bet no bugger would lift a finger if we weren’t so important to a given day’s filming. An unscheduled return to hair and makeup after a deluge could be the difference between finishing on time and on budget, or not.
I don’t know if it’s my old ASM training but as soon as a break was called I found myself naturally gravitating towards the areas staffed by Jim Acheson and the makeup team. I’ve always been much more comfortable among the crew. It’s a calmer place – and, to be honest, I learned over the years that they were often the only ones who had chairs and, occasionally, a roof over their heads!
By the end of the week I’d made so many friends that the idea of a long coach ride home didn’t seem so daunting. On the contrary, there was an end-of-term feel in the air and everyone was in a party mood. The plan was to head off as soon as the last scene wrapped (so as not to waste licence payers’ money on another night of hotel rooms). I was lugging my bag towards the coach with Robin, Peter and the rest when I heard a car horn toot. When I looked around there was Jon leaning against this beautiful Lancia.
‘Lissie, you’re coming back with me!’
Am I? Thanks for asking, I thought. But I said, ‘How kind, Jon.’
OK, I’m going to sound a bit catty but I really didn’t fancy travelling with him at all. I was tired, I was looking forward to curling up on a seat on the coach, maybe having forty winks, then joining in with whatever high jinx were occurring. Besides, I saw it as a valuable bonding session – everyone would be there.
Except me.
Jon, of course, thought he was doing me the greatest favour. Why slug your way back to the Smoke on a clumsy old charabanc when you could travel in style with the star of your show? I’m sure a lot of people would agree with him but, you know, it would have been nice to have been given a choice.
Trust me, though: there was no choice. Resigned to the way of things, I humped my case into the boot and climbed into the passenger seat.
‘Here you go,’ Jon said, tossing a map onto my lap. ‘You can be navigator.’
Oh joy, I thought. I came up by train for heaven’s sake and was picked up by coach. I haven’t got a clue where I am now.
Jon was already manoeuvring the car. ‘Is there anything behind us?’ he asked, before slipping it into reverse.
I didn’t even look up from scrutinising the map.
‘No.’
Off we shot, backwards at top speed – and crashed straight into the props van!
I have to say Jon took it incredibly well. He loved his cars and the Lancia was his latest pride and joy. After a quick inspection of the damage he clambered back in and we set off. This time he didn’t ask me for any help.
For quite a while we spoke about the show and how proud Jon was to be part of such a TV institution. He was happy I was aboard as well. We were going to have fun, he promised. Then as the miles passed and Manchester became a mere dot on the map, the mood in the car changed. Suddenly I went from navigator to Mother Confessor. He poured out the whole story: how much he’d enjoyed working with Katy Manning and how it had broken his heart when she’d quit the show.
What was I meant to say to that? I just thought, Oh God, please, I don’t want to know.
Just like on the first night, no sooner had he sunk into a depression than he snapped out of it. Spotting a sign for a service station he suddenly chirruped, ‘Lunchtime, Lissie,’ and swung in. Of course he was dressed flamboyantly as the Doctor and so heads turned everywhere we went. And to everyone who came up to speak to him, he said the same thing: ‘This is my new assistant.’
It was so embarrassing. No one could have cared less about this stranger staring back at them – I could have been the bag lady for all they knew. I just thought, No, Jon, people don’t want to know. Just take your bow and leave me alone!
The rest of the journey passed in a blur. I’d already heard too much so we chatted about the industry. He’d said it before but he repeated it then: ‘If I can do anything for you, Lissie, just ask.’ And he really meant it. Such a kind man, he really just wanted to help.
That was 10 May 1973. My first day in the studio was not until the 28th so I had a fortnight to really get to grips with the scripts and my character. I just prayed I’d be allowed to do so without interference.
* * *
The filming sequence for Doctor Who back then was extremely regimented. But what did I expect when the whole place seemed to be filled with ex-military men? Serials in those days ran for four or six episodes, with the odd aberration. Episodes were recorded in pairs and for every pair we had ten days, working ten to five, to do everything: rehearse, technical rehearsal – where lights and camera positions etc. are worked out – costumes, record. It sounds a long time but actual filming hours were in extremely short supply. If we had a four-part serial, we filmed four days. Six days for a six-episode story. No time at all, when you think about it.
Rehearsals took place at the Acton Hilton in one of their vast rooms, working through each show sequentially as that’s how they would be filmed. I have to say, it was an exhilarating atmosphere. There was a great energy in the room – in the whole building, in fact – and the sense of creativity was almost tangible. The BBC in the 1970s was a tremendously fertile place to work. The talent on show was immense.
Of course there were the odd teething problems. Having joined the cast late and missed out on the table read-through, I’d gone up to Manchester cold, needing to make friends from scratch. A lot of the cast and crew hadn’t been required for the location scenes, of course, so now I had to be introduced as the new girl all over again.
I don’t like to bring up gender issues because there were as many women acting as men, and yet, I have the feeling that had I been a chap joining, there’d have been a tad more respect thrown my way. As it was, I was perceived as the latest in a long line of ditzy girls employed to scream ‘Doctor!’ every five minutes, which, I felt, was all that certain people wanted to see. No one apart from Barry and Jon really knew what I’d done in the past. All that went completely under the radar and assumptions were made about my ability – or lack of it. I remember later saying to one person who’d tried to position me for a scene rather than describing what he wanted, ‘Oi, hands off! I’m not a Dalek.’ Patronising really isn’t the word. (Actually, yes it is – it’s the perfect word.) Unfortunately this wasn’t something that disappeared with the first episode. A constant turnover of directors, crew and production personnel meant I repeatedly encountered new people who assumed I’d been hired from a modelling agency and not from a background of twenty-odd years, girl and woman, on the stage.