Retakes were rare as hen’s teeth so I had to carry on – even though I could see Keith’s backside sticking out from under the table while he tried desperately to stay out of shot. I don’t know how I got through it. By the time I finished I was laughing so hard the mascara was streaming down my face. Afterwards Keith said, ‘Oh my God, Chucky, I’m so sorry – but as soon as you said “Bippetyboo” I thought, What am I doing here? I can’t do this any more!’
He left shortly after that!
We did a good deal of filming outside the studio as well – nothing that required flying, thank goodness. I remember being sent to lots of farms and very quickly realised that I do not like the smell of animals. But there I was, week after week, standing in the middle of a goat herd or pig sty, saying, ‘Look at these delightful creatures!’ Frank decided we’d have a goat in the studio one week and of course it did the usual thing of making a mess. I thought I was going to gag. It’s affected me for life. I used to take Sadie to farms when she was young and I’d have to say, ‘You run through there and I’ll meet you at the other end.’
Just like on Merry-Go-Round, there was no clothes budget so you had to wear your own things. That was OK for the first few weeks, but even when you’re just putting different tops on with your jeans, you eventually start to run out. So I went to this old folks jumble sale and bought a horrendous bed jacket, which was the most incredible sickly pale green and pink, with a pink ribbon belt. I thought, If I wear this, they’ll have to get me some clothes. So I did.
And they couldn’t have been happier!
I must have done Stepping Stones for about two-and-a-half years (although the title changed at some point to My World) and – apart from the farmyard aromas – I adored every minute of it. A couple of days’ work with delightful people every few weeks – what’s not to love?
Looking back, though, was it a mistake to stay rooted in a kids’ show for so long? Should I have been trying to do more ‘serious’ roles? After all, I’d just turned thirty – was I throwing my career away?
* * *
If I’d been worried about being perceived as a fluffy children’s personality, two events made me grow up – fast.
The first was a happy one. Brian and I bought our first house. Strictly speaking, we bought our only house – because we’re still there today! After looking far and wide we found a place round the corner from our flat in Ealing. When we pulled up outside I said to Brian, ‘How on earth can we afford this?’ Then we went inside and found out: it needed a lot of work but we just fell in love with it. It had the high ceilings and bay windows that I adore, so we bought it. Anyone who visited over the next few months was likely to find me doing a Spider-Man impression, bent double up a ladder painting, or scrubbing the ceilings and walls. I’ve always loved physical work in acting, but when it came to decorating I felt pain in muscles I never knew I had.
There was only so much we could do ourselves. When it came to walls being knocked down and RSJs fitted, we got the experts in. It would have been hellish to try and live there during that, so John Blackmore, Tony Colegate’s assistant director at Manchester, offered us both a tour of Alan Ayckbourn’s Bedroom Farce. We snatched at it.
Well, that was a mistake! Living in digs again was just horrendous – I would have preferred to take my chances under the dustsheets at home. The venues weren’t much better. At the theatre in Middlesbrough we were told not to flush the loo backstage because it would reverberate around the auditorium. Opening night in Newcastle pretty much summed it all up. The guy playing Trevor was quite uptight, really bodily stiff, which I’d noticed when I had to swing him round in rehearsal. When we got to that part in the show, I grabbed his shoulder and heard this crack. I had dislocated his arm! He wore it in a sling for the rest of the tour. The only thing that kept us going was knowing our fees would go towards fixing up the house.
It was such a relief to finally get the place looking ship-shape but we couldn’t celebrate because there was someone who was no longer around to see it. My mum had been ill since Christmas. She had been on heart tablets since I was about twenty, so any illnesses were potentially serious. I’d been popping up to Liverpool as often as I could, in between Stepping Stones and other bits. I kept saying to her, ‘You look tired, what does your doctor say?’ But she was a strong-willed woman – she wasn’t going to slow down for anyone. She died of a heart-attack in March 1978. I was actually in Liverpool at the time but I’d gone out to visit cousins. When the call came I felt my world fall apart.
* * *
At times like that you really need your partner’s support – that’s why Bedroom Farce was so perfect; it meant Brian and I could be together. Then I had a small part in a telly thing called Betzi, which only involved a few days up in Norwich for Anglia. The cast was amazing – people like Roland Curram, Sheila Gish’s husband – but the director had some funny ideas. When we got to the rehearsal room there were footprints all over the floor telling you where you should be and how you had to get there! I’m glad I didn’t have a very big part – it’s not at all easy to walk where someone else wants you to; it’s like playing Twister.
I had more luck on my next telly. Send in the Girls – the story of a group of ambitious women in a high-pressured sales promotion team – was made by Granada, who had always been good to me. I auditioned for Ollie Horsburgh and won the lead part of Beverley. Then he said, ‘Now, we need to find you a husband.’ Guess who they hired?
I didn’t even know Brian had been asked. Ollie had no idea of our relationship so it had nothing to do with that. In fact, he got himself into a terrible panic when he realised.
‘Lis, are you OK with this? We had no idea – I’m not sure I can handle this!’
But I couldn’t see what the problem was: I was delighted. It was also nice to have strangers think we made a good couple!
The close links didn’t end there. Sadie’s future godfather, Ray Lonnen, was in that one. Brian had known him longer than me, so we had lots of fun being back in Manchester together. And one of my idols, John Carson, was in it as well (I still find myself delivering lines in The Sarah Jane Adventures in a Carson style). He was amazingly influential on me – but on the day of the last dress rehearsal he did a wicked thing. There I was in full slap and frock when he said, ‘Lis, you know my wife wrote this – and she doesn’t think you’re right for it.’
I could have hit him. Ollie was pleased, the producers were pleased. If his wife had a problem, she’d had months to voice it.
If this is what you have to put up with doing adult drama, then I’ll take kids’ telly any day! I thought.
My next ‘grown-up’ thing, a sitcom called Take My Wife, wasn’t much fun either. Once again it was up in Manchester, where Brian happened to be working on something else. The director, a dour Scot called Gordon Flemyng, went up to him and said, ‘I am giving your wife a hard time.’
‘Thanks,’ said Brian. ‘I’ll be looking forward to going home tonight!’
I loved Dougie Brown in it, also Joan Benham and Victor Spinetti. Victor was very funny. He rang me up afterwards and said, ‘I am doing this story about D.W. Griffith the film director, and I know you adore Lillian Gish.’
‘Yes,’ I said, wondering where this was going.
‘Can you sing?’ he then asked.
‘God,’ I said, ‘no, I can’t!’