I didn’t like the Rassilon stuff much – that whole denouement chugged along a bit too slowly for me. It was like trying to act in treacle. By contrast Jon and I had fun with Anthony Ainley as the Master in the car because those scenes zipped along. I enjoyed Sarah getting a bit tetchy with him: he’s as powerful and clever as the Doctor but she stands her ground. I’d never come up against the Master before so it was good to tick off another landmark villain, something else for the fans to ask me about at the Chicago convention – where most of us were heading immediately after filming.
* * *
It’s always a privilege to receive invitations to go to America. Piling onto a plane after The Five Doctors wrapped had an exciting end-of-term feeling. It’s so nice to be among friends when you’re working and, of course, after such a gruelling shoot even the people I hadn’t really known before had suddenly become close.
We all gave the show a good hard sell in Chicago, which I think was fair. If you asked Janet or Frazer or any of the others what they think about The Five Doctors, I imagine we would all trot out pretty identikit replies. We’d been in better Who productions but this was ambitious and it was fun. Most importantly, it was conceived as a grand gesture, a big celebratory thank you for the fans, and I think it achieved that.
I went to the Chicago convention three years in a row. It was always fun. They were so enthusiastic, and because it fell around Thanksgiving it seemed like all of America was in party mood. I never thought I’d witness the same levels of passion in England.
But then we went to Longleat.
The Seat of the Marquis of Bath had been running a Doctor Who exhibition since 1973 and it had always drawn in visitors to the stately home. With the anniversary coming up, Lord Bath persuaded BBC Enterprises to up the ante and really make a feature of the place. As a result, on Easter Sunday 1983, Longleat threw open its gates to all living Doctors, as many companions as they could muster – and about a million fans!
Stately homes are never built on motorways, are they, but no one in their wildest dreams expected that level of turnout. All the roads were gridlocked and after a while the only people getting anywhere were the police deployed to sort out the mess.
I still get letters about it today. People say things like, ‘I never made it’ or ‘I got within a couple of miles’. Some of them actually struggled through but I’m afraid there were a lot of disappointed fans that day.
Unlike the American conventions, this one was mostly outdoors so you could really appreciate the scale of the audience surging towards you. We were all looking forward to it but at times you knew how it might feel to be a castle besieged by angry villagers. My father, who had come along as my guest, couldn’t help worrying. ‘Is it safe, Lis? Is it safe?’ he kept saying, and I had to laugh. This was a man who had ridden a motorbike through the jungles of Nigeria and now he was shaking at the sight of a horde of Who fans.
Just trying to cope with the vast numbers meant that standards weren’t quite so high as in LA, Fort Lauderdale or Chicago. I managed to nip to the loo at one point and I suddenly heard this voice from the next cubicle: ‘Lis, if I slide a photo under the door, will you sign it?’
Signings are the lifeblood of conventions – fans will queue for hours to get a signature. If Sadie ever came along she’d be asked for her autograph, too. And if Jon was around he always made sure she was spoiled by fans. Usually the organisers massively underestimate how long these things take, so I’m forever saying, ‘I’ll sit here signing until I’ve seen everyone,’ which can throw the running order out completely. Sometimes you do get dragged away, because you’re booked for something else but it’s never my choice, I promise!
Signings at Longleat took place in a massive hall called the Orangery. The organisers had a nightmare funnelling the fans into the area but we felt quite safe cocooned in our booths as the most patient people in the world snaked slowly past. Who fans are always so charming and polite and interesting. Sometimes you feel as if your wrist will snap if you sign another photograph but then you see the next smiling face coming towards you and the pain vanishes.
They organised the signings in shifts so I sat down at my place next to Carole Ann Ford and before you knew it, we were engrossed in a mammoth catch-up. Then a BBC chap arrived with a huge stack of pictures for us to sign. Carole spotted them first.
‘Oh my God, I never thought they’d use them!’
‘What’s wrong?’ I said and grabbed a copy.
It was only the publicity shot we’d done at the hotel for The Five Doctors! And yes, we still looked as hideous as before.
‘I’m not having this,’ I said. Carole’s husband and Brian were nattering away in the corner – ‘Over here, boys – we’ve got a job for you!’ Five minutes later every single photo had been submerged in one of the fire buckets of water hidden at the back.
Most fans bring their own things to be signed so it didn’t matter, but every so often I’m sitting at a convention or a book signing and someone will say, ‘Could you sign this, please?’ and it’s one of those bloody photos. God knows how they get hold of them!
It was great seeing Tom and Jon together. Funnily enough, for all Jon’s waspishness, the more time they spent together at functions over the years, the more the two warmed to each other. Pat was there too, and Peter, and I met Louise Jameson again for the first time since our encounter in Richmond all those years ago. It was such fun for everyone. I remember the BBC man steering us all into the exhibition to have our photos taken with the monsters. I’ve got a picture of us all – Louise, Peter, Janet, Sarah, her boyfriend and me all in a line, kicking our legs up.
* * *
Longleat was incredible, and if I’m honest, it would have made a neat ending to my association with Who. If I had to pick a lasting memory, the sight of all those faces would be a pretty satisfying one.
The UK, however, wasn’t the only place desperate to celebrate the programme’s twentieth anniversary. Jon and I were booked for a summer tour of the East Coast of America, although, I confess, when the invite arrived neither of us exactly leapt for joy. Travelling for fun is one thing, but being ferried around on a tight schedule sounded distinctly unappealing. But then the organisers said that Brian and Ingeborg, Jon’s wife, could come.
‘Now they’re talking!’ said Jon. ‘The four of us are on an all-expenses paid trip around the States.’
Suddenly we couldn’t wait. If there’s one thing I’d learned during those fabulous conventions in California, Chicago and Miami – the Americans really know how to spoil you.
We met Jon and Ingeborg at Heathrow. As far as I was concerned we were four friends going on holiday. A lot of our fellow passengers, however, only saw the Doctor and his companion checking in their luggage! I lost count of the number of times we were asked, ‘Where’s your TARDIS?’, but Jon always responded as if it was the first time he’d heard it. Such an ambassador for the show – the BBC really didn’t know what they’d lost in him.
The cabin crew weren’t slow with the in-flight drinks and by the time we landed in Tampa, Florida the four of us were buzzing about the four weeks ahead.
‘We’re all in for quite an experience,’ Jon observed.
And, boy, was he right.
You can never fault the passion of US Who fans but the word ‘disorganised’ doesn’t really begin to cover it. Ron Katz was the President of the Doctor Who Fan Club of America and one of the most enthusiastic people you could ever wish to meet – but, as we soon found out, not everyone shared his zeal for the programme.