Entering behind them, comes the ‘Bohemian Lady’. She is young/middle age, dressed in a rather
‘ethnic’ way. She is barefoot, and carries two empty bottles milk bottles, or at least clear glass
but misty. She is taking an occasional delicate sniff from one of the bottles, and is obviously
quietly ecstatic about being alone, under a vast sky with limitless horizons, and drawing the
sharp, salty air into herself.

She is suddenly disturbed from her meditative raptures by the entrance of the ‘Submarine
Commander’ from D/S/C. He is young, rather inexperienced, and somewhat bewildered. He steps
over the bodies, as if they were just large stones on the beach, and does not notice what they
really are at all. He comes towards her and stops. For a little while they say nothing, but share
looking at the vista of sea and shore – she quietly offers him one of the bottles, which he takes
mechanically, not knowing what it is for as well as being too preoccupied with his immediate
thoughts. He suddenly blurts out that he is the captain of a submarine that has gone down to
which she replies ‘Isn’t that usual’. There is no humour implied or taken. He continues to talk
about the shock of it happening, the loss of his crew, the responsibility that he feels. She tries to
assure him that it is all the hand of fate and that he should not continue to blame himself. ‘We
are all straws in the great wind – exciting isn’t it’? He is still more or less loathe to drop his
isolation and preoccupation and share hers, and rambles on with his broken thoughts about
members of the crew who were very loyal and trusting – and Taff – splendid fellow – bloody awful
cook’.