Most of those scenes were filmed later in the studio but first we had to capture me exiting the TARDIS, dressed – that’s right – for 100 degrees, not 30. Anyone who thinks acting is all lipstick and glamour should really think again. As there was no way I was leaving the hotel dressed like that, I had to get changed on the bus. Heating systems on coaches in 1973 left a lot to be desired, let me tell you. Even worse, I had to stand semi-naked for ages while they hosed me with fake tan – a hideous experience to end a pretty good week.
* * *
I always enjoyed the camaraderie of location shoots and everyone being at the same hotels, eating at the same restaurants and sharing the same buses. You don’t always get on with everyone but there are enough people around for you all to have your own friends.
After a week away, however, it was still a relief to get back to the home comforts of London where even the relentless slog of the rehearse, record, rehearse, record at North Acton seemed quite welcome. Before we got going at the read-through, however, Barry had some news – and it wasn’t good.
‘I just wanted to let you all know that this will be my last series as producer,’ he announced. ‘It’s time to move on to other things.’
Oh my God! We all sat there in shock. As far as I was concerned, Barry was Doctor Who. Jon might be the star, but Barry was the programme. Barry had overseen the show’s transfer into colour, he had forced the Corporation to investigate and then adopt the latest Colour Separation Overlay techniques. Thanks to his close relationship with Terry Dicks he had also influenced and written storylines, and had even directed several episodes. His influence was truly extraordinary. And, of course, he had created Sarah Jane Smith and cast me in the role. What a great decision that was!
Barry wasn’t the only hole we had to plug. Terry Dicks had announced his departure some months earlier and his successor, Robert Holmes, had been shadowing him for a while now. Rumour has it that it was Robert’s idea to call our current serial Death to the Daleks out of pure wishful thinking because he hated them so much. Robert, of course, wrote The Time Warrior, so I had a lot to thank him for. He could have turned my character any which way (although I’m sure Barry kept a very close eye).
I liked Robert. We both enjoyed all things gothic. Over the coming months I drew comfort from spying him in the wings, pipe in mouth, very tall, very upright, but always nodding, like a dog rocking in the back of a car. You always felt brainy in his presence, he just oozed quiet confidence. I’d sometimes go and stand by him just to feel his strength.
‘Hello, Robert.’
‘How are we, girl?’
‘Fine, fine.’
‘How’s the work today?’
‘Fine, fine.’
He and Terry were chalk and cheese. Whereas Robert was extremely contained, the thinking man with the pipe like his namesake, Sherlock, Terry was so ebullient, so funny and so very open. When we went to the fortieth anniversary celebration of Doctor Who at the Houses of Parliament, he was such a scream. ‘When does the bar open? I wouldn’t have come if I’d known …’
With Terry and Barry, the lynchpins of the show, leaving so soon after Katy Manning and following the tragic death in a car accident of Jon’s close pal on the show, Roger Delgado, who played fellow Time Lord the Master with such sinister class, I was apprehensive as to the future of the programme. Audiences don’t always embrace change. Mess with the ingredients too much and viewers start disconnecting. At least we’ve still got Jon, I thought.
* * *
North Acton was such a divine environment to work in and by our third serial Jon and I were in a comfortable groove. The regimented rehearsal/recording demarcation was quite liberating, actually. On day one Jon and I would arrive and we’d go through our scenes, script in hand, working things out. Gradually over the course of the session the lines just seep into your memory. It’s a lovely way to work, actually, very organic. You block sections out, work on them, have fun experimenting and don’t even realise sometimes that you’re memorising quite large chunks of text. And as changes get made as you go, you’re not lumbered with having to re-learn something in a different form. I wish we still had that system now. On The Sarah Jane Adventures we’re expected to have the whole episode in our heads from day one. You’ve got to be good to go on the first day – it’s more like cramming for an exam.
Rehearsals at the Acton Hilton began in the last week of November after a hurried trip back to Dorset for some extra scenes. Script under my arm, I met Jon in the canteen and we had a guess at what the day would hold. It turned out we were wrong. Michael E. Briant declared right at the start that we would not be working on Episodes 1 and 2, as expected. Instead, we would work through the script on a strict set-by-set basis. In other words, all tunnel shots from all episodes were done at once, TARDIS shots bundled together, Dalek ship scenes paired up, etc., regardless of where they fell in the serial. My initial reaction was, OK, whatever. Let’s go. Jon, on the other hand, wasn’t happy at all. And when Bagpuss wasn’t happy …
But it was no good arguing. Briant had decided to try and avoid wear and tear on the sets by not using them, storing them, then digging them out again. Get a set in place, film everything, put it away – it made sense but only if you treated the actors as chess pieces.
It was the filming equivalent of completing a jigsaw puzzle before you’ve got the edges in place. After one day my script was littered with notes. ‘O.O.B.’ didn’t begin to cover it. Running, walking, happy, sad, chatty, quiet, close to Jon, coat on or off, hair neat or messy … And, of course, it wasn’t just me I was trying to keep track of: Jon was completely at sea filming in this way. In five seasons I think this was the first time he’d been asked to do anything like it.
I didn’t envy the person in charge of continuity on Death to the Daleks, although I didn’t exactly make that particular job any easier. There is a scene where I’ve been captured by the Exxilons and am being prepared for sacrifice. In the script I think I should have been hung from the ceiling. In reality I was told to stand, arms above my head, with my hands tied to a pole – which was actually a broom handle. That’s how thought out this particular scene was. I can’t remember if it was the floor manager or the assistant studio manager, but he was the one who held the sweeping head out of shot while I was dangling away. What I do remember, however, is that this scene went on for bloody ages while the Exxilons danced around their fire.
As soon as they stopped pointing the camera at me I unhooked myself from the broom handle and tried to shake some life into my arms. ‘I need to have a sit down,’ I told Chris D’Oyly-John.
As floor manager Chris was the director’s voice on the studio floor, so he said, ‘Fine. Just don’t wander off.’
So off I went to find a piece of scenery to rest on while they got on with preparing for another angle shoot of the sacrifice set-up. I was so busy trying to massage some feeling back into my wrists where they’d been tied that I didn’t notice another camera angle change. The new angle focused on the Exxilons – but the camera was pointing exactly where I should be dangling in the background.
Oh Christ, I thought, pulling myself up, I’m in this scene!
‘Chris,’ I said, but he just waved a hand dismissively and called, ‘OK, everyone, action!’