Cloud of Dreams

By Sherrie DeMorrow

In this new release, Cloud of Dreams, Sherrie DeMorrow explains the backstories of Alexander Pennece DeMilo and Cynthia Lear, before the point of their abduction from Earth.  DeMilo is a 20th century thespian, who is descended from Italian players and the prominent English aristocratic Woodes-Hastings lineage.  Lear is a middle-aged ho

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherrie DeMorrow
• Release date: Mar 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9780995591912

Book preview

CLOUD OF DREAMS

BY

SHERRIE DEMORROW

Published 2017 by

Lightning Source (UK) Ltd

Chapter House,

Pitfield,

Kiln Farm,

Milton Keynes

MK11 3LW,

UK

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any from or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

© Sherrie DeMorrow 2017

Cover Art Design by Sam Wall

samwall.com

To LL for help and support

To the memories of MM, ST and AC and in acknowledgement of MC for continued inspiration, courage and strength

THE BACKSTORY OF ALEXANDER PENNECE DEMILO

(ALSO KNOWN AS XANADUNE)

Chapter I

I was born Alexander Pennece DeMilo on June 17, 1912 in London, England.  It had been two months since the sinking of the Titanic and life bustled on as usual.  Growing up, I was referred to as 'Little Penne' due to my height and thinness.  It was a kindly name, but as I got older, I knew it was silly and I would need to reinvent myself if I decided to take up theatrics.  I found a felicitous name to which I would be referred and it was Xanadune.  I hoped it would be a name that would catch on quick and one for the girls to think about!

My father was a player from Milan called Alexander Vesuvio DeMilo (‘Vessie’), who was on tour when he met my mother Mary Katherine.  She was an avid theatregoer and spent a good chunk of her wages on plays, programmes and other memorabilia of the like.  She was from the aristocratic Woodes-Hastings family who could date their lineage back to medieval times, possibly beyond.  Her family was very unconventional, as many members of the family had married into very oddball lineages.  For example, there was a William Alexander Woodes-Hastings who was a British soldier during the American War of Independence.  He married a very eccentric colonist.  Their marriage was a happy one; indeed, this colonist was fanatically loyal to the British cause and had helped win the war for us.  She later relocated to England with William and embarked on a career serving the Royal Family.

Another was someone from way back in medieval times named Roger Alexander Woodes-Hastings.  He descended from the de Hastings line (the ‘de’ bit was dropped sometime after the Norman Conquest), but his father fell into disarray.  The father then had to conform to a peasant existence, having been knocked back down the social scale.  He took up pig farming and, as a fallen aristocrat, he had been able to marry whomever he wished for and did (whilst still keeping the Hastings name). Later on, his son, the aforementioned Roger, too, had the right to choose whomever he wanted to marry.  

He married a lovely peasant girl, one Elizabethia Mary Woodes, and he thought it would be a good idea to double barrel the names.  However, as he was the son of the fallen, the maid he married, had taken some precedence over Roger.  Hence, the name became Woodes-Hastings.  Roger (the son) continued the pig farming trade as a proper living and got himself in a right state in the mud.  Yet it did pay off, because through it, he turned around his fortune.  Even though he was a fallen branch of the Hastings tree, he planted his own roots and created the little 'dynasty' of Woodes-Hastings.  

Mother was never ashamed of her background and in fact, the quirkiness of unconventionality had made it just the more appealing.  No one in her family batted an eyelid when she married Vessie. When most people in her circles would have frowned at the thought of marrying beneath her, especially an actor (and an Italian one), her family welcomed him and were very curious about his previous life in Italy.  For many years, they had a interest in the Classical era and they knew he would help enlarge the breeding circle.  However, Mother was no different to any other woman who enjoyed a good hobby and a giggle over the pervading star-of-the-moment.

I had been exposed to the theatre from a very young age.  We lived simply, frugally, and overall enjoyed life.   My father worked very hard since his permanent arrival to England after meeting my mother.  He was a tall fellow, brown eyes, and possessed a dark, windswept look and had a joyful personality about him, with complementary features.  He was passionate about things and had a mild temper about him. Well-travelled as a player (and coming from a lineage of players), he enjoyed the hospitality of many a fine country throughout Europe.  He did love his country and had a good life there, yet he wanted more.  Milan was not like Rome or Venice.  It felt parochial to him and he wanted a new challenge.  He thought working abroad would do it and he arranged to go on another tour.  

It would take him to London, where he had heard there were many 'Bella donnas' there (and not referring to the plant, of course).  

Whilst in England, Vessie had done several Shakespeare and modern plays and everyone loved his performances.  On one occasion, when he portrayed a promiscuous character in the play, Costantemente a Questo (loosely translated as Constantly At It), there was a young lady awaiting him.  It was my mother, to-be.  She was able to go backstage to congratulate him on his fine work and perhaps have a drink or two afterwards.  He agreed and they went out together.  

Vessie loved my mother very much and he decided to relocate to England to live with her after they had met.  He made arrangements to retain a post at a local theatre, the Iseeum (now long gone), and began his forever settlement here.  They married in a nearby church and Vessie was more than happy to infiltrate himself into the British way of life.  He even mellowed out into a more calming personality since his arrival. He did a good job of fitting-in and many people admired him for it, but he never forgot the old country.

Over the next few years, Father carried on and loved working in the theatre.  He talked about the joy he felt when he performed to the audiences night after night.  Sometimes before I went to bed, he would read me some of the plays he had done, even sneaking a bit of Italian works to give me a wider perspective.  

When the War in Europe broke out in 1914, he wanted to join in with the concert parties.  He was no soldier and felt his talents could be more suited to rallying troops and performing as he did before.  Sometimes players were in such demand, that when one of them who was to be transferred to another division, there was a credulous effort to retain him in the ranks.

So, he left his wife and myself to follow the troops in Europe, mostly France. Vessie related it to when he was a simple player on those tours he was on. Thankfully, he did not need to fight as he did so well in his profession, and later, they made him an impresario.  

However, there were those who did fight, and those who were what was termed ‘conscientious objectors’.  The latter were an interesting bunch, refusing point blank to fight, landing in prison, and branded a criminal. Called a traitor, in some cases, though one did not lose one's head over it. (Luckily, beheading was no longer in vogue!)   One of their clever ways of communicating in prison, when one landed in it, was tapping on a drainpipe in Morse code.  There, that's got it, now the next man will hear me out, one can imagine them saying to themselves.

For those in the trenches, Father heard it was a misery.  A human abattoir. God.  Sometimes it was worth going over the top, just to rush out quickly, calling the name of a loved one.  Then you threw a grenade at the enemy and run like hell, like a rabbit, back into your ditch and hope the bullets did not get you.  

Such stories were fascinating, but it was someone else's life and someone else's time… and possibly not even reality!

When the War finally ended, he returned to us in London and resumed his career in theatre.  I visited him many a time, and enjoyed the lights and starry-eyed concept of the whole thing.  It seemed quite likely I would follow in Father's footsteps and take my place on the stage, whether with him or otherwise.  I went with Mother many times to see various plays in the evenings after school.  She thought it to be an additional part of my education and took me through its rigours. Being a theatregoer herself, it was not difficult to do, and consequently, I caught the ‘acting bug’.

Aside from myself, there was my younger brother, Cecil Brian and a sister, Emma Belle.  Although it is traditional for Italians to have large families, Vessie decided (for practical reasons) to stick with a smaller brood.  'Three children were enough mouths to feed,' he said.  We had a good life together and had grown up exposed to good culture via the theatre.

However, Cecil was getting itchy about theatre work, though, and decided to seek out the newer medium of films.  He eventually left England for Hollywood, to indulge his interest and make a living from it.  Emma did some minor theatre work, but decided to have a go at earning a less glamorous living in the newfound ‘department’ stores, which were cropping up in London at this time.

* * * * * *

Many years later, I found myself picking up the baton Father had left me.  I worked my way through assorted positions in the theatre where Father worked.  I caught on to many an aspect of human emotion as I watched carefully in the background during rehearsals.  It was mesmerising (and even mind-blowing) to see how the characters evolved and became more life-like as the rehearsals continued.  I tried to master these emotions and eventually was given bigger roles to play.  

I spent a few more years doing my bit on the stage when critics began to take notice of me.  The real mania hit when I was in a production of Romeo and Juliet.  There were throngs of women and girls coming to my shows and their enthusiasm was similar to that of my mother's. However, this time, my performances had not only inspired their minds but their crotches, too... I had to wonder about that.  As I was still single, it made the adulation slightly easier on everyone.  

One day, when I approached the rear of the theatre, I caught a glimpse of a queue extending past the block.  The girls were clutching many an image of myself as shown on magazines, programmes and folio cards.  All of them wanted a piece of me.  Well, I harrumphed to myself they shall have it!  Apparently, there was a term used for this instance, ‘Xanmania’ and it flattered me so.  It is nice to be adored, for that is what Father thought as well.  It was so worth it to be on stage to give oneself to the great masses of folk who (probably) travelled far to see me.  Maybe they had dropped everything for a piece of the glory in action, I supposed. I did try to live up to the standards of the audience and that is why they came.   Every night, I always prayed, just like Father had done, that I would give my best to them as best as I could.  Much to one's delight, those prayers were answered; however, the mania became more intense.

After the show, there was a small throng at the back whom I did entertain, pen at the ready to receive their autograph books, pictures and whatever for me to sign.  I did so delightedly as the girls were squealing.

'It must be fabulous to be on stage every night!' one exclaimed.

'God, I could just die right now,' another screamed.

A third proposed, 'You busy tonight?'

To that last comment, I calmly stated, 'Yes I am.'

'Ah, but with whom?'

'Erm, no comment, miss.  Now, everyone, I signed your pieces.  Off you go!' I dismissed them and breathed a sigh of relief that the harder bit of the evening was over.

My eye caught sight of another fan, but I thought, is she one of them? Should I approach?  I confess I was a bit lonely; fame can do that to one, you know.  The girl glanced at me discreetly, and walked out of reach. Damn, I hoped she wouldn't go away.  I couldn't think what might have scared her off.   Shit.  I returned inside to my dressing room to collect my bits for the night and went home.

The next night was the usual pandemonium, but I hoped that lone girl I saw the previous night would come around again.  I had finished the show and had a quick look past the back door.  Nothing.  Damn it.  I took a passage toward the front of the theatre and checked the front.  Ugh, more girls...uh-oh.  No, wait, ooh… I saw her standing there… at the rear, away from the crowd with a book in her hand.  It looked like she was reading it.  How can one read a book at a time like this?  Now, I was intrigued and my inquisitiveness got the better of me.  Oh, how I wanted her!

Chapter II

Later on, after the show, I put on a false moustache to extricate myself from the endless masses at the theatre and entered a saloon bar called ‘Hole-In-A-Shoe’ down the road.

It was perfect due to its smoky atmosphere, people-oriented din and secluded from those...girls!  I went up to the counter and bought myself a pint and looked for a nearby table to sit at.  The place was progressive as it allowed women to enjoy a drink too. This was due to an incident during the Suffragette movement and they were admitted ever since.

However, I caught a glimpse of what was perceived to be a youngish boy, but oh, my word, it was that girl I saw previously outside, separated from the crowd.   I boldly went up and sat at her table.  She was still