It’s possible I’m not the target audience, of course. Years later, when Sadie was about eight, I took her to my first Blue Box convention. As soon as she saw someone marching around in a proper Cyberman costume she just fell in love. She literally hung on to this poor guy for the whole day. I’ve got pictures of her going up steps clinging to his arm – they’re probably still her favourite.
Worse than the villains – and worse than Rodney Bennett – the director this time was Michael Briant. We hadn’t enjoyed the best relationship on Death to the Daleks, but I tried to be professional and give it a fresh go this time. You never know: maybe it was Jon’s presence that got us off on the wrong foot, as much as they liked each other. It turned out not to be so. Michael just isn’t what I’d call an actor’s director: his focus is on the story, the special effects and the scenery. He’s utterly professional, but those are his priorities. Get those right, he seems to believe, and the cast just slot into place. I don’t think it was that straightforward, but there you go.
Working in Wookey Hole should have been a fun experience. After all, it’s one of the UK’s premier tourist attractions. But no sooner had we arrived than things began to go wrong. It didn’t take long for us to believe the caves themselves had their own agenda.
The guy chaperoning us around the caves confirmed as much. Pointing to a stalagmite resembling a witch’s face, he said, ‘The Witch doesn’t like you – she doesn’t want you here.’ Thanks, mate, a charming welcome! The next thing we knew, on a closed set, Michael saw a guy in full potholing regalia wandering around. Turned out this man had gone missing some years earlier. OK, I thought, this is weird. But we pressed on – we always just pressed on.
Later, Ian and I were sitting under the ‘Witch’ going through our scripts.
‘There’s a scene here, Ian, which I just don’t understand,’ I said.
Ian nodded. ‘I know which one you mean.’
We both turned to this funny little half page. It was just dialogue between him and me but, stare as hard as I might, I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Without doubt it was the most unfathomable text I’d ever been asked to learn. It wasn’t the first time I couldn’t follow some scriptwriter’s logic, but even so …
I always flag anything in the script I don’t understand, so I put an asterisk next to the preceding passage to jog my memory. Slowly but surely we worked through the day’s pages. Then Michael announced, ‘It’s a wrap’ and people started packing up. It was then I remembered the confusing lines.
Ian was looking puzzled as well. ‘We’d better check with the boss,’ I said, and so we went up to Michael.
‘What about the scene between Ian and me?’ I asked. ‘Aren’t we going to do that one today?’
Michael stared. ‘What scene? There is no other scene – we’re finished.’
‘Look here,’ said Ian and rifled through his script. I watched him flick forwards then back; he couldn’t find the scene. Impatiently I pulled my own copy out and thumbed through until I found the margin marks. There they were: an arrow and star reminding me to check with Michael. But where was the text?
The bottom of the page was blank. I swear to you, it had been covered in text. Now, though, it was completely white.
Ian was shaking his script upside down, as if he was trying to tip the missing words out. We both stood there, dumbstruck. Where was that passage? We’d both seen it. Hell, we’d both learned it!
If there really was a curse, we still had more to witness.
Rosemary Hestler, our assistant floor manager, suffered an unexpected bout of claustrophobia so she had to be escorted out. Jack Wells, our munitions expert, also took a turn for the worse and had no choice but to abandon ship. Tony Harding, our visual effects assistant, really struggled to get even basic pyrotechnics to work as they should and an electrician broke a leg after a ladder inexplicably collapsed under him. All in all, it was a jinxed set.
But the worst was yet to come. On 20 November I nearly died.
The Vogans used these little skimming boards to zoom across the rivers that run through the caves. It looks quite impressive – but only if you know what you’re doing. At one point I escape from the troglodytes and try to get back to the Doctor. In doing so it was decided I should commandeer one of these boards and jet across to the other side.
‘Do you think you can do that?’ Michael asked.
‘I don’t see why not.’
And so it was agreed. I was taken across to the far bank in a little rowing boat. There I was introduced to this motorised surfboard contraption. The guy who made it talked me through the controls. Basically they wanted me to jump on, lie flat on my stomach and pilot it across to the other side where the cameras were waiting to capture everything.
It’s only when I was standing at the side that I noticed just how rapidly the water was running by. It wasn’t a lake, it was a river – gushing down through the earth towards a waterfall leading God knows where.
‘It’s OK, you can do this,’ the guy said. ‘Remember, just jump on, drive straight across and up on to the muddy bank, leap off and run.’
But I didn’t move – I just stared, listening to the whooshing water disappearing into infinity. Terry Walsh came over and put an arm around me for moral support. At that point even Michael sensed all was not well.
‘Would you like Terry to do this for you, Lis?’ he called over.
At this I scoffed. I was wearing a tight jumper and combat boots – not exactly Terry’s sizes …
So I said, ‘No, no it’s fine, it’s fine.’
Anyway I did it. I don’t know how, I barely remember, it happened so fast. I clambered on, knocked the single control from ‘off’ to ‘on’ and it whizzed straight across. I got to the other side, turned it off as instructed and scrambled away. Perfect, no messing about – all captured in one take.
That was at the start of the day. Despite the various inexplicable mishaps that befell the crew, and the tour guide wandering around saying, ‘The Witch doesn’t like you, the Witch doesn’t like you,’ somehow we finished the day ahead of schedule.
It’s fatal to give a director extra time because they always want to use it. In this case ‘fatal’ was the key word.
Michael sauntered over.
‘Do you know what, Lis – we could really do with a shot of you running towards the board. We’ve got a bit of time to play with so we’d love to see you getting on it.’
I wasn’t happy and obviously it showed in my face. The board owner said, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to bother with the controls, I’ll leave it pointing in the right direction. You just jump on and push yourself out – you’ll soon reach the other side.’
‘I’ve been told the current on that river is about 30 miles an hour. Are you sure I don’t need the engine?’ I asked.
‘No, no. The boat will only go the way it’s pointing.’
Now, as I sit here recalling that day, it’s apparent that statement was purely nonsensical, but not as nonsensical as believing it. It was a light piece of wood. Of course it would bloody turn with the drift!
But you’re on a TV shoot, it’s such a world of make believe and you’re just programmed to do what other people say. Everyone is an expert on something: makeup, lights, stunts … I handle acting. And this guy handled the boat. That’s my defence. They must know what they’re talking about, I thought.
For some reason the Aggedor jump had clean left my mind.
We went for the take and I realised the bank had become really slippery since the morning’s scene. You can see in the final version how I struggle to get on the damn thing; I could see the cameras and everyone on the other bank, so far away they looked tiny. I do remember noticing Terry had taken off his Vogan costume (because of course he had a part in this serial, as usual). I thought he must have a stunt coming up – I didn’t even question why he seemed to be strapping underwater breathing apparatus to his back.