The Dieppe Raid: August 19, 1942 - Part 7
Map of Dieppe as found in Combined Operations by Londoner C. Marks
- Wednesday Morning and Evening, August 19, 1942
The warm sun smiled down upon us as we slowly rocked on the gentle swell, in the melee of boats that huddled around this unknown destroyer. It seemed almost as though the battle was over, as we lolled about, but for the Infantry - it had just begun. As the smoke cleared away, we began to see the beach, and as the large flashes from the continuous explosions lit up the scene, we assumed that this was evidence of the pounding that our boys were giving the Jerries. Looking up into the azure of the morning sky over France, I was attracted by the sight of a formation of bombers heading our way. Just as I was trying to decide whether they were theirs or ours, a group of Spitfires came hurtling down from above them and a wild dogfight took place. It was really more like a rat kill than a dog fight, as the Dornier Formation scattered and the Spits went after them piecemeal, diving, twisting and turning, as the fighters spat cannon fire into them. Then one of the bombers began to burn, rolled onto its side and screamed blue murder for the sea. I couldn't take my eyes off the sight as the plane streaked into the water with a mighty splash, then a great roar of cheering went up from the sailors in the assembly of landing craft.
Spitfire Squadron: Photo credit - Spitfire History
Now, as I shifted my gaze around above me there seemed to be dog fights going on all over the sky. Parachutes were descending into the water and landing craft in the vicinity of their landing went immediately to pick them up. There seemed to be at least fifty or sixty aircraft in the sky at once, most of them R.A.F. fighters.
They were having a field day up there as they seemed to be shooting down aircraft all over the place. Hop and I pulled our weapons out from under the foc’sle and took them out of their boxes, checked the magazines and got ready to take a pot shot at any of them that may venture near us. Leach warned us not to shoot at anything that we could not definitely identify, as most of the planes were ours right now. However, he did tell us that any aircraft below 3000 feet would be an enemy, as our planes were all instructed to keep above this altitude.
As the battle continued ashore, we were able to see the flashes and the smoke, but we were too far away to hear the noise above our own engine noises. Eventually hunger and thirst began to push themselves to the forefront. Fortunately, we had brought with us a four gallon can of water, but we had no food. I asked Leach if he would mind if I tried to beg something from the destroyer. He then produced a box, which he had brought with him, containing sandwiches, so we each had two, then they were gone. My left hand, which I had burned on the smoke generator as we pulled off the beach, was now beginning to bother me a little. It didn't look bad but the skin was now very stiff, like cardboard, and if I tried to bend it the pain was noticeable.
"Mr. Kirby's name appears on 'Dieppe Personnel' list in Combined Operations"
Shortly before 1000, we received the order to start our engines and take our line ahead formation. Our engine started like a charm and I turned to Grear with my best enquiring look and he said, "Bet you we've got a small crack in the distributor that is holding moisture, and the long run over here had dried it out." It certainly sounded good to me and I felt confident as our Flotilla headed off toward the beach. "What's up now Sir?" I shouted to Leach over the din. "We're going in to pick up the Camerons from Green Beach," he replied. I felt very elated as we headed in, for surely our boys must have completed their tasks and now we were going to sail back to England, victorious over the great German army. About a mile out from the beach, we did a right wheel, just as we had on the initial landing, and ran parallel to the beach for a minute or two, then turning ninety degrees to port we headed in to the beach in line abreast. No sooner had we completed the last turn, than the sea erupted just as before, with a great barrage of mortar fire. Immediately, I saw the boat on our left go up in a deafening blast and a fountain of water deluged our boat. A small tidal wave hit the side of our boat and tossed us to starboard like a match stick. As we continued on, R-84, on my right, seemed to be taking a blast of fire from the left hand cliffs, probably heavy calibre machine guns, as bits seemed to be flying from the front of her.
Then, suddenly, Leach shouted "Turn to port, one eighty degrees. Watch for other craft, Hopper, Grear, get down into the bottom of the boat." The landing craft swung around hard and headed out to sea and we left the mortar fire behind us but the automatic weapons continued to hound us for nearly a mile. "What was that all about, Sir?" I asked Leach when we stopped alongside the destroyer. "I don't know, but as soon as we're tied up I expect there will be a conference," he answered. Leach climbed up onto the deck of the destroyer and disappeared. Looking around, we seemed to be missing four of our boats. I don't see either McKenna's or Lantz's boat but they may be on the other side of the destroyer. Miraculously we didn't pick up a scratch in that fray, but I can't imagine why we turned around before reaching the beach. In about half an hour Leach came back and we looked at him expectantly. Finally he volunteered, "Flotilla Command got word that the Camerons were unable to reload until the German fire on the beach was reduced, so the Navy is going to shell the fortifications on the cliffs and then we will try again."
"The cliffs of Dieppe": Photo credit to Six Years of War
Good grief, I thought we were in control? It looks now as if it is just the other way around. No wonder we took such a pasting near the beach. Just then, the entire world seemed to explode. A great orange flash over my head, accompanied by the loudest blast I have ever heard, knocked me right out of my seat onto the deck. At first, I thought that our destroyer had been hit with a blockbuster, but as my senses slowly returned to me, I realized that she had just fired a broadside with all six guns, and sitting here, under her muzzles, we had just received the full force of the concussion. We were not long getting out of there. Starting our engines, we all scattered in every direction, but our Flotilla C.O.'s boat called us to muster around him and we watched from a more comfortable distance as the destroyer tossed several salvos into the cliffs on the left side of our beach. There was now a great deal of noise and flashing on the beach but we couldn't tell what was going on. Suddenly, the sound of machine gun fire drew our attention to the left, as, low over the horizon, three aircraft came streaking at us. This just had to be the enemy, as they were no more than fifty or a hundred feet high. All the landing craft joined in a great chorus of machine gun fire that I thought would be impossible to penetrate. Hop opened up with our Lewis and I joined him with our Tommy gun, even though I had never heard of a Tommy gun being used for anti-aircraft before (because of its very short range). As the three planes roared over our heads, we could all see the R.A.F. Roundels on their wings, and the silhouette of the Boston Bomber was as plain as day. Now what in the hell are three Bostons doing stooging around at fifty feet in an area where the minimum altitude is three thousand? Lord Jesus, it's a wonder that we didn't blast them out of the sky with all the lead we threw up at them, but fortunately, they continued on their way, leaving us wondering if they wished that they had bombed us while they had the chance.
Just about noon, we received the signal to form up again in line ahead and the Flotilla headed once more for the beach. This time I was not a bit confident about the future as I strained by eyeballs toward the shore, hoping to find some evidence that we were in control. Ahead of us was a group of LCA's, the British built landing craft, with armour plate construction. As we began to overtake them with our superior speed, I found myself wishing that I was in one of them, instead of our plywood R-boats. However, when we were still about a mile off the beach, our Flotilla turned, first to port, leaving the beach on our starboard side, then, after a couple of minutes, we turned to port again, leaving the beach on our stern. Looking back I saw the LCA Flotilla heading into another hail of fire that soon obliterated all sight of them. The poor devils, I thought, as my mind and my attention turned back to the job of keeping formation. After about a half an hour of heading out to sea, Leach got on the Aldis light and learned that we were heading back to England. Who is going to pick up our Camerons? What happened to the LCA's which continued on to the beach? What was the lot of the entire operation? We are still four boats missing from our own Flotilla.
"A German photograph found in the book The Watery Maze"
What happened to them? A great many questions kept running through my mind as we ploughed our way through the water of the English Channel, retracing the course that we had spent all last night following to France. At any minute we expected to be attacked by Stuka dive bombers or Junkers 88's as our boats staggered, hodge podge, toward Blighty.
Once we were out of sight of France we encountered no activity at all, neither air nor sea. The weatherman gave us the best that he could find in his inventory. The sun poured down on us out of a clear blue sky as our little plywood wonders porpoised along over a gently rolling Channel swell. As our boat slowly rolled from side to side, little spouts of water came in through the bullet holes along our starboard side, but our bilge pump had no trouble handling this small amount. Looking up and down the line of craft both ahead and behind us, things did not look so rosy. Some of them had torn canvas covers, some without windshields, others sat low in the water as though they were taking water fast enough to tax their bilge pumps. I watched for opportunities to get a glimpse of either McKenna's or Lantz's boat but was unable to recognize either one. The pain of my burned hand seemed pretty slight as I thought of the carnage we had left behind us. I didn't even dare mention it to anyone for fear that I would be looked upon as some kind of a sissy. Eventually we had to slow down to about six knots to keep in station with some of the damaged boats. Then I noticed that two of them were in tow.
The sun was resting on the horizon when we finally caught sight of dear old England. What a wonderful sight to see. We now felt we could relax, as no matter what happened now, we were certain of getting back home. The last ten or fifteen miles seemed to take forever and it was beginning to become dark as we tied up at the jetty alongside the big freight shed in which we had been sleeping for the last few nights. What a mixture of feelings went through my body as I climbed up to the jetty and surveyed the shambles throughout the harbour. So relieved to be home. So happy to be in one piece. So ashamed to have come home alone. So proud of the way the Camerons went to their deaths. So sad that they seemed to have been wasted. So angry that I was even a part of something so confusing, agonizing, demanding and apparently unrewarding, without even knowing what I was doing or exactly where I had been. As darkness began to deepen, the whole harbour became ablaze with flood lights as hundreds of troops engaged in the gory business of unloading dozens of ships and small craft of their mutilated cargo of sailors and soldiers. After about half an hour I ran into Lawrence Lantz coming along the jetty. As we met, we said simultaneously, "Have you seen Joe McKenna?" We both answered, "No, not since we left here Tuesday night." Neither of us saw any comedy in this coincidence as we suddenly felt a great fear for Joe's safety. Together we went up and down the jetty looking for his boat and were appalled by the sight of a tank landing craft unloading dead and wounded men by the dozen as they were piled upon wooden skids and lifted by crane onto the dock where they were put on stretchers, examined quickly by doctors, and the live ones carried off to a waiting ambulance train, while the remainder were loaded on trucks.
During our search, we came upon a Supply Officer and a couple of assistants handing out free rum from a Navy rum keg, just as is done on the regular ships at noon hour each day. We both lined up twice for a free ration, although neither of us were drinkers. We continued our search until about 2200 then went into the town of Newhaven for something to eat. We turned into the first pub that we encountered and were able to get a small meal there. As we talked about the day's experiences, it appeared that both of our boats had come off very lightly compared to most of the others. I told Lantz that I had seen McKenna's boat taking some fire on the mid-morning trip back to the beach, but hadn't seen it since. The bartender overheard us discussing the raid and he asked us if we had been part of it. When we replied in the affirmative he immediately gave us each a drink on the house and announced aloud, to the whole place, that we were two Canadian sailors just back from Dieppe.
A big cheer went up and everyone gathered around us, buying us drinks and asking us all about it. It was very embarrassing for both of us, as we felt more like quitters than heroes. Together, we felt very badly about not bringing any of our Cameron Highlanders back. At midnight the pub closed and we staggered back to the freight shed to our beds. We were very dismayed that McKenna was not in his bed, and in our half drunk condition, hoped that we would see him in the morning, and if not, we would try to find out if he had been wounded and was perhaps in the hospital. Then, dead tired after two long days without sleep, we collapsed on our beds.
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