* * *
It was back in 2003 that I began to hear things. Just rumours at first, idle gossip, really. At one time they were making another movie, then there was a programme about a new Time Lord. Each whisper was as fanciful as the next. Then, on 26 September 2003, the head of BBC1, Lorraine Heggessey, announced to the press one simple fact.
She was bringing back Doctor Who.
I remembered the ill-fated attempt to relaunch the show in 1997 with the lovely Paul McGann. I hope they treat it better this time, I thought, but my interest ended there. It had nothing to do with me – not as an actor or even as a fan.
‘Classic’ Who – as people started calling it – was still calling on my time, however. When I joined the show I’d just missed out on its tenth anniversary but I’d been involved in the twentieth and thirtieth celebrations. Even so, I was surprised to get an invite to the Houses of Parliament to celebrate Who’s fortieth. It was quite a low-key affair. Peter Davison was the only Doctor present, but there was a big cake and K-9 put in an appearance as well. It never fails to astound me how wherever you go, fans appear. I was told MPs were leaving the Commons chamber just to come over and say ‘hello’, before darting back in to vote.
‘Hi, I’m Glasgow North! Any time you want a chat just pop up there.’ Bizarre.
As usual, I was upstaged by the bloody dog! All the MPs wanted to have a word with him. Ann Widdecombe, of all people, absolutely adored him. She came running over for a hug and a photo.
The biggest celebration for the fans, of course, was the news that Who was being given the kiss of life by the Corporation that had killed it off in the first place. Was I bothered?
Not in the slightest, actually.
Barry always said they could never bring it back, its time had passed, and I was inclined to agree with him. I hadn’t watched the programme before I joined and I’d barely seen more than a few minutes since I’d left. Doctor Who for me is the relationships I built up during those couple of years in the 1970s: Jon, Tom, Barry, Terry (all the Terrys, in fact), Robert, Chris … everyone who made it such a special time. Maybe the show itself had run its course.
Television had moved on since we’d run around wobbly sets with Plasticine dinosaurs. I thought, If this show is to stand a chance it will need serious investment. You can’t skimp. Modern audiences won’t stand for it. In the end, you have to say it was backed to the hilt: the money is there to see on the screen.
As soon as I get home from an event such as the Parliament party, I become Mrs Miller. Elisabeth Sladen, star of TV’s Doctor Who, is hung up in the hallway with my coat – I’m not interested in carrying on that life unless I’m working. Even so, word from the new production occasionally filtered through; you had to be impressed with the calibre of personnel they were assembling. From what I was hearing, they had the imagination and the passion – and the budget. What impressed me most was they had the manners as well. Barry and Terry Dicks were both invited down to Cardiff by Russell T Davies. That just proves how much he cares – he’s as much of a fan as anyone. Barry hadn’t been there long when he signalled a big ‘thumbs-up’ to Russell (just as he had to hire me all those years ago). That would have meant everything to Russell.
There was such a buzz about the programme from people like Barry that I did find myself sitting down in March 2005 to watch Rose, the first episode. Five minutes later I was reaching for the ‘off’ button. Not that I didn’t like it – I was just too nervous on their behalf. I just thought, It’s their first night, they’re going to be pulling out all the stops, trying to tick so many boxes to prove it was the right thing to bring it back. I could almost feel their anxiety from Cardiff – I’ve been in that position. So I decided to wait a few episodes and tune in when they’d hit their stride. I’m actually glad I did. Chris Eccleston was tremendous, magnificently dark, and it was a shame he didn’t continue longer.
The revival had registered on my radar, then, but that was all. Then fans started writing in – young correspondents who’d seen the new show and gone on to discover old tapes and DVDs of my serials. They were all asking about Sarah – ‘What do you think she would be doing now?’ Although it was nice to know the interest was there, again this didn’t impact on my life greatly. It was outside of what I was doing and thinking at the time.
When the press rang – as they did in their droves – to ask how I felt about Who coming back, I gave the most honest answer that I could. I said, ‘Brilliant news. It’s better to come back than not come back – on many levels. Actors working for a start.’ Ever the pragmatist …
I never for a moment thought one of those actors might be me.
* * *
When Russell pushed his script across the table I instinctively did what everyone in my profession does: I checked how many lines I’d have. How else do you know if you’re an important character or not? I thought I’d be rifling through for my appearance but I couldn’t believe it: there I was on virtually every page! This wasn’t a cameo – this was a whole story.
I started to scan the words. Toby Whithouse, now better known for having created Being Human, had written a beautiful, beautiful script and the point where Sarah realises the Doctor has returned after all those years is tear-jerking.
I didn’t know what to say.
‘No pressure,’ said Russell. ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to do it.’
I stared again at the pages, dumbfounded that they’d actually written it already. There I was, third on the cast list. Everything already seemed to be in place.
How could I say no?
Afterwards Russell admitted the scale of the gamble he’d taken in commissioning the script before approaching me. If I’d turned it down they wouldn’t have gone to anyone else – Sarah was the one he wanted. She was the journalist, she fitted the script; they weren’t prepared to shoe-horn in any old former companion just for the sake of nostalgia. What an incredible honour.
I think all that took about half an hour. Then we ordered more wine and told jokes. The perfect meeting!
Twenty-nine years after first walking away, I was going back to Doctor Who.
* * *
Table read-throughs are always pressured environments. It’s the first time you meet a lot of the people you’ll be working with. When I was on Who, I was firmly ensconced in the BBC family. The extras coming in had to join our world, not vice versa. Upon arrival at a hotel in Cardiff for the School Reunion table read-through in the summer of 2005, I was as nervous as I’d ever been. The train ride down had given my doubts time to fester. What if they realise they’ve made a mistake? What if they think it’s too much of a risk pinning so much on a near-sixty-year-old?
But if I had a dose of the first-day nerves, imagine what it must have been like for the new Doctor. Chris Eccleston had left and David Tennant was in the hot seat. And this was his first day at work.
Because of time limitations they were doing read-throughs for all three parts of the first recording block in one day. So whereas I expected to be met by a cast well into their stride, in fact David was even more nervous than me.
‘I’m absolutely bricking it,’ Billie Piper admitted. ‘David is, too.’
That made me feel better so I marched over, hand out.
‘Hello, Doctor.’