As break time came to an end the tension in the room built up. The cameras that had been hovering around all day were about to be switched on. Rehearsal time was over, now we were doing it for real.
I like to get into the zone before going on stage, as I mentioned. Script rolled tightly in my hand, like a relay baton (although more for comfort at that stage), I went through my first scene. OK, I thought, let’s go. I’m ready to be Sarah Jane.
Suddenly there was a holler from the other side of the studio.
‘We’re over here, Lissie!’
What now, Jon?
I trotted over to where Jon, Nick and the others from the episode were all huddled.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
Jon winked, beaming like the Cheshire Cat. ‘After three, everyone!’
And then on three, everyone who’d gravitated around a hanging mic bellowed out the name ‘Harry Roy!’
‘It’s just our little tradition,’ Jon explained afterwards. Apparently it got the mouth loosened up and was a good team-building exercise.
It might be your tradition, I thought, but it’s not mine.
A lot of actors have superstitions. Mine on The Sarah Jane Adventures is always having to pull my left boot on first – don’t ask me why, it’s just something I follow. In my defence, it’s a minor thing. No one knows (until now!), and no one else is impinged upon.
Bloody ‘Harry Roy’ was different. I’d just spent ten minutes getting into the mindset of Sarah Jane – I didn’t want to be thinking of some old actor. And more importantly, I didn’t want to be made to do things just because the last girl did them, but I went along with it.
Anything for a quiet life, Sladen …
* * *
Recording on Episode 1 finished at half ten on the nose (the unions were very powerful in those days so the knock-off time was fixed in stone). Then on Tuesday we did it all again for Episode 2. It was hard work, but God I had fun.
I was very happy with the way Sarah Jane was set up. You could see a genuine twinkle in Jon’s eye when the Doctor first meets her – especially when he rumbles her lie about being Lavinia Smith, her aunt. There was also the indignant feminist tease, ‘If you think I’m going to spend my time making cups of coffee’ from me before Jon disappeared inside the TARDIS to boil his own.
What I adored most of all about filming, of course, was the feeling of being part of a company. Yes, the ‘Harry Roy’ thing annoyed me intensely (we had to do it again on Tuesday and again the following week) but Jon was right: it did make the supporting cast feel part of ‘us’. I was hired for twenty-six episodes while some of them were only with us for one or two, but for that night they were made to feel as essential to proceedings as the Doctor himself.
I was still finding my feet, of course. The Time Warrior was the first thing I’d worked on where I had to perform in front of a blue screen to film scenes to which special effects would be added later (in those days the effect was known as CSO – colour separation overlay). The camera guys were very patient with me while I got to grips acting against imaginary explosions. Watching the raised monitors I could just about follow proceedings.
I was pretty pleased with my first attempts on the blue screen. On stage you’re regularly expected to act with imaginary sets, props or even people. This was no different. Once I’d mastered the mechanics of it, I had a blast. As I came away from the screen I noticed the studio had cleared, though. There was just me and the cameraman – and he was looking a bit awkward.
‘Was that all right?’ I asked him.
‘Really good, Lis,’ he said. ‘But, um …’
‘Is there a problem?’
I’ve never seen a man look so shy.
‘Lis, did no one tell you what you’re supposed to wear for CSO?’
‘No, they didn’t. What am I supposed to wear?’
He looked nervously at his shoes again.
‘Come on, out with it,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, Lis. You should have been told to wear the special CSO underwear. We could see everything you’ve got, that’s why everyone left,’ he added. ‘We’re going to have to go again.’
‘Why didn’t bloody Jim tell me?’
I flew round to the costume room just off-set and tugged on the handle. It was locked – from the inside.
‘Open up, you buggers,’ I said, hammering on the door. ‘I need the special underwear!’
Eventually the door was unlocked to peals of laughter. Finally the penny dropped.
‘You bastards!’
There was no special underwear at all. It had all been an elaborate wind-up. I felt a bit of a fool but I had to admit, they’d got me.
On the Tube home that night I remembered Jim’s face, pink from laughing at my initiation test, and I had to smile. I think I’m going to enjoy my time on Doctor Who.
Chapter Five
O.O.B., Sladen?
WE FINISHED recording The Time Warrior in the second week of June 1973. It wouldn’t be broadcast until the December. Working so far ahead to meet TV broadcast schedules throws up its own little quirks in time. I remember gossip in the press (denied, of course) saying Freema Agyeman had been dropped from Series Four of the new Doctor Who even before the third season had started! And when Chris Eccleston was doing promotional interviews for his landmark relaunch season, everyone in Cardiff already knew he had quit – but luckily none of the journalists thought to ask.
It was just as confusing back in 1973. Literally as we were recording Time Warrior, the final serial of Season Ten – The Green Death – was being aired. There I was replacing Jo Grant before anyone had even seen her leave. No wonder those fans at the motorway services had stared at me so blankly.
The Green Death’s final episode had further significance for me. That was the day when the BBC publicity department decided I should be unveiled to the press. I can see the logic. Old series ends, viewers disappointed to see Jo Grant swan off into the sunset with Cliff Jones. What better time to introduce her delightful new replacement?
And so it was on a sunny June day that I was persuaded to put on a ridiculous pair of denim shorts and T-shirt in a look that predated Daisy Duke by a few years and pushed out the front door of BBC Television Centre to the main entrance area – where they shoot all the Strictly Come Dancing intros – and where the national press’s snappers were assembled.
I’ll never forget the sight of all those lenses. Thirty-odd photographers all calling my name was something I hadn’t expected. ‘Lis, do this’, ‘Lis, over here’, ‘Give us a smile, Lis’. I was pulled from pillar to post, made to turn this way, perch on this thing, lean against that. And then there were all the questions to answer. Going back to Freema, I know she was given a course at the BBC on how to handle the media. I had no such training – we were thrown to the lions in those days completely unprepared. So I struggled gamely, all the while my rictus grin beaming unlovingly outwards.
Fortunately I wasn’t alone out there. Jon was on call as well and as soon as he saw I’d had enough, he very gallantly swept over to join me. That was my cue to hide behind him. I’d never been so glad to see that great flowing cloak of his. This, I felt, was where I belonged all along: by the Doctor’s side, not in the limelight.
I was glad to have the ordeal over and quickly forgot all about it. The next day, though, reminders came in their droves. A few lines appeared in one or two of the papers, and at home the phone rang off the hook. My parents were proud as punch, of course, and Dad promised the Doctor Who snaps would replace my Anita Reynolds stills in pride of place on the lounge wall. Every other call came from family and friends in Liverpool. Everyone was so pleased for me. It was flattering, if awkward. Brian was just as chuffed for me, of course, but he was the only person who understood. I’m just doing my job …