Born in Leeds in 1981, actor Gemma Whelan studied performing arts at Middlesex University. A winner of a 2010 Funny Women Variety award, she performed as her comic character Chastity Butterworth for many years, before gaining critical acclaim for screen portrayals of Karen Matthews in The Moorside, Yara Greyjoy in Game of Thrones, and Kate in BBC Two’s Upstart Crow. Whelan lives in London with her husband and two children. She stars in series three of The Tower, on ITV1 and ITVX now.
The Sara Lee chocolate gateau – a staple of any 90s party. I have no idea whose birthday it was, but I do remember doing that pose and my mum going, “Oh my God, it’s hilarious. Do it again!”
This is quite a typical image of me growing up. Usually, my brother or cousins were distracted or picking their nose, while I was looking down the lens and making a silly face.
I was eight years old when we left Leeds for Solihull. It was 1989, we were in a recession, and our family had to move when Dad managed to get a new job in the Midlands. This photo was taken in the dining room at the new house. While it was exciting to go to a new school, it was much bigger than my former village primary. Change is discombobulating for a child, and in hindsight I became slightly obsessive. I suppose I looked for an element of control and safety. But I can’t blame that all on moving house – I also used to stay up watching 999 with Michael Buerk, which didn’t help.
Our home was always busy and bustling. My parents would have dinner parties a lot, and I was sometimes allowed to stay up late with them. In the day, there was always a stream of people coming and going because Mum was a home tutor. She was known in the area for her ability to help kids pass their 11-plus exams: “If anyone can, Sue Whelan can!”
At school, I was slightly odd, but I was kind. I gravitated towards outsiders – people who were new, or who were bullied, or who looked different or diverse – as they were way more interesting. I often felt like an outsider myself. Teachers would have described me as “spirited”. I was cheeky and charming. I don’t think I was ever disruptive or mean, but I was wilful, defiant, especially in the face of authority. I still feel like that now. Who doesn’t have a problem with authority? I have noticed that some people can suck it up better than me, though. When it came to rules, my stance was: “If I’m not allowed to do this, tell me why. If it’s not a good enough reason, then I’ll do my own thing.” On a field trip once I got so bored I put out a shoe and started busking in the streets. There were a lot of visits to the headteacher, but I could make the teachers laugh, so would normally get away with it.
In spite of my predilection for attention, I could often be introverted. As a teenager, I enjoyed solitary activities, like going off to the library or playing piano in the music room. I wasn’t well – I had anorexia – so during that crucial time of going out and meeting boys, I was at home or in hospital. There was no taking drugs or smoking. I didn’t go clubbing, either. My friends would get into clubs, and I would always get rejected because I looked so young. I’d call my dad and go: “It didn’t work this time.” He’d say: “I’m on my way! Meet me outside McDonald’s.” We’d sit on the sofa and watch Friday night TV together instead.
Performing was my outlet. My parents met doing amateur dramatics. My brother was in school plays. It was part of what our family loved doing. I was dancing from the age of three and in all of the school shows, as well as the National Youth Ballet. During senior school, a friend called Samantha Hopkins said: “You should be a standup comedian.” I was such a fan of Lucille Ball, Robin Williams, Eddie Murphy – these clownish, brilliant, quick people. When I finally tried it at university, it was such a buzz. I realised Samantha was right, I could do it, but it was also so terrifying that I couldn’t face doing it again for several years. When I got an agent, they suggested there was something about how well spoken I was that could work in comedy – that I could push the boundaries of my voice with how base the things I was saying were. That’s how Chastity Butterworth arrived.
During my 20s, as well as acting and doing comedy, I worked in other jobs: mainly waitressing or helping run the membership department at the actors’ centre. I grafted, I didn’t make any money, but I held on to my dream and was disciplined. Maybe that’s a dance training mindset. But I also knew that I could experience hard things and come through the other side, and I put that down to being so ill in my teens. I had an unerring faith that life was going to turn out OK if I worked hard and kept going.
It did: in my early 30s my career started unfurling. I was in One Man, Two Guvnors, and in 2012, Game of Thrones. That role helped to open doors. I didn’t train at Rada, I’m not from London – I was on a very unconventional path and I’d arrived on this huge show. It wasn’t as if I was suddenly living in a massive mansion and driving a Mercedes, but it raised my status slightly. The fandom never became a problem, either. At conventions I might get someone saying: “I came out because of you,” or “I realised who I was because of your character.” That’s powerful.
Having children was a huge turning point. I would bring them to whatever job I was on. The balance of having my children with me but going on set for three hours each day was exactly what I needed. There was a dark tunnel at the start of motherhood – the first few weeks of being a milk machine, where everything in my body felt broken, I couldn’t stop crying, but was still frantically learning lines. As much as it was intense, it was amazing. Affirming, too. As soon as I pushed my first baby out, I thought: women are fucking amazing!
It helps in motherhood that I am still very playful and silly; much like the child in that photo. My party days definitely peaked when this was taken. I definitely prefer gatherings that revolve around Wotsits, sausage rolls and musical bumps. If I do have to go out now, the music is always too loud, I can’t hear what anyone is saying and I keep thinking I’d rather be on the sofa watching Gilmore Girls.
When I look at that photo, I think: she’s definitely a bit weird, but she’s cool, too. I still have that sense of defiance, but I’m less attached to the outcome. Less boorish in a “my way or the highway” kind of way. It helps that I’ve had lots of therapy. I’ve trained as a yoga teacher. I have a psychotherapist husband and I’ve had kids. All of those things have softened me, for the better.
