Presentation: Dad's Navy Days Part 5 (4)

Dad's Navy Days, 1941 - 1945

By G. A. Harrison

Introduction: The following post will be part of a Nov. 2016 presentation regarding my father's WW2 service with the RCNVR and Combined Operations organization.

Part 5 - Concerning the Dieppe Raid - Operation Jubilee, August 19, 1942

Though my father missed participating in the Dieppe raid - due to being on leave - he was affected by that first deadly-serious encounter with the enemy on the shores of France. He reflects on the action in hand-written memoirs in 1975 and in a submission to a Combined Ops book produced by veterans (St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, Volume 1) in the mid-1990s.

Hand-written notes follow:

The next one (i.e., the second attempted raid on Dieppe) on August 19, 1942 should have been aborted too. I wasn’t there because I was on leave but came back early (because, though I didn’t know where, I knew there was a raid coming) and was in position to see the Duke of Wellington carrying barges, my oppo and other buddies to Dieppe and certain death for the soldiers. There was a mishap before they even got to sea, i.e., soldiers were readying hand grenades and one somehow exploded and four were killed and many injured. It was an ill omen.

Doug Harrison's hand-written notes from the 1970s, or earlier

Much has been written about Dieppe so I will not enlarge upon it too much. My opinion is - it was a senseless waste of blood. The Germans were ready because we (i.e., the Allies) ran into a German convoy in the channel. The element of surprise was lost. The times of arrival at beaches were to be during the night, but some turned out to land in full daylight up against cliffs unable in any way to be scaled. No softening up of defences by bombing was ever carried out. I will make it short and say I will remember it as a complete, useless waste of good Canadian blood and no one - even those who say we learned a valuable lesson there - will ever change my mind. No mock raids were held, as for St. Nazaire against home defences. It was simply a mess.

I lost my first comrades at Dieppe. Others were wounded. O/S Kavanaugh - killed. O/S Jack McKenna - killed. A/B Lloyd Campbell, London, Ontario died of wounds after his legs were nearly cut off by machine gun fire. Imagine Higgins boats made of 3/4 inch plywood going in on a beach like that.

 

Lt. McRae became a POW at Dieppe, 1942. 

Photo credit - St. Nazaire to Singapore: Volume 1 

Lieutenant McRae, our commander, Stoker Brown, and others I can’t recall were taken prisoner. And lots of people don’t even know Canada’s navy was represented at Dieppe. (The only other comrade I lost was Coxswain Owens, the man who left me stranded that night in Irvine. He was killed in North Africa, our next safari).

I was on leave at Calshot Camp in Southampton at the time, but was asked to go and clean up ALCs as they struggled back from Dieppe. I absolutely refused. I was so incensed I also refused to go to church there. I went to the door but never went in.

Nothing became of my refusals. In fact, I went through the war without one mark against my record.

Lt. Robert McRae also submitted a story to St. Nazaire to Singapore about his experience at Dieppe. An excerpt follows:

       Dieppe: The Landing

       Toronto made me, Dieppe undid me;

       26, RCNVR, ordinary seaman to lieutenant

       by '42, RN destroyers and mine-sweepers

       in the North Sea, then from May the same year

       hitched up to a new RCN flotilla

       learning Combined Operations, 100 men, 15 sub-lieutenants

       working our butts off up in Scotland making landings

       in anything that floated - then in August ordered to Southampton

       where persuasive talkers wanting men and boats

       for a mystery job took us in hook, line and sinker,

       our officers and men sprinkled through the fleet,

       not going in as a unit, the price to be paid

       for a chance at some close in action....

McRae goes on to write vividly about arriving off the French coast in a small R-boat at about 7:30 AM, August 19, 1942. He passed through a smoke screen to confront the foe. Machine gun fire greeted him.

He writes:

       Coming out on the other side (of the smoke screen) 

       with a full view now of the coast,

       we found we were fatally headed toward the beach

       under the steep cliffs.

       to the right side of the town instead of the town front,

       with the ominous heads of the enemy clearly visible

       lined along the top of the cliffs. And now they began to pour

       machine-gun fire down into the boats. In our craft, Campbell,

       who was at the wheel, received a line of bullets across his thighs

       (later as a POW he lost his legs to amputation

       and died before Christmas from gangrene).

       Cavanagh, standing beside him, was shot in the chest,

       and died an hour later thrashing in torment while his lungs filled up.

       My third crewman, Brown, took something in the stomach 

       that damaged him for the rest of his life. But although wounded,

       he took  over Campbell's place at the wheel,

       and for this action received a gallantry award

       after the war. As it was my place to stand

       behind the man at the wheel,

       Campbell had stopped the machine-gun bullets

       I might otherwise have received....

From pages 61 - 62

Photos as found in St. Nazaire to Singapore, page 65

McRae's full account can be found online at St. Nazaire to Singapore.

Please link to Presentation: Dad's Navy Days Part 5 (3)

Unattributed Photos GH

Books re Combined Operations: DIEPPE DIEPPE

DIEPPE, DIEPPE

By Brereton Greenhous

I purchased DIEPPE, DIEPPE online recently at AbeBooks and I will read it to the end. Already, however, I am recommending it for those interested in WW2 history, Canadians at war, and particularly those who are interested in learning more about the handful of Canadians who served in RCNVR and Combined Operations at that time. The book includes excerpts from Al Kirby, whose story about the Dieppe raid is already featured on this website.

In the introduction to DIEPPE, DIEPPE one reads the following:

       Dieppe, Dieppe... In Canadian ears the word resounds with all the ritual solemnity of a funeral bell. 'Life, struck sharp on death, makes awful lightning,' wrote Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and in our national memory Operation JUBILEE has made such awful lightning that fact is sometimes hard to separate from fiction.

       Some facts are all too clear, however. Four thousand, nine hundred and sixty-three Canadian soldiers embarked for Dieppe on 18 August 1942. The next day 907 of them, or better than 18 percent, were either killed on the beaches in some horrifying 11 hours, or subsequently died of wounds, or died in enemy hands. Another 2,460, or nearly 50 percent, were wounded, and the 1,874 taken prisoner included 568 of those wounded. Only 336 of the 2,210 who returned to England (between two and three hundred of whom had not even landed) got back unharmed. (Page 9)

With the use of excellent story telling and the aid of a multitude of photographs from the National Archive of Canada, Department of National Defence, Imperial War Museum (London) and ECP Armees, Greenhous presents the story of Dieppe in great detail. He writes:

       This book attempts to pull together, at a popular level and in relatively brief fashion, the various strands of policy and personality, grand strategy, operations and tactics, by land, sea and air, that brought about the 'awful lightning' of Dieppe.

Greenhous points us toward "the first coherent account" of the raid penned by Colonel C.P. Stacey (the Canadian Army's official historian) entitled Six Years of War from 1955, and toward other excellent resources. His introduction concludes:

       Whenever practicable the words of actual participants in these events have been used - they are distinguished by italic type: and (since recollections often change over the years in favour of more dramatic, amusing or self-serving versions) with the notable exception of Albert Kirby's unique memoir they are as contemporary, or near-contemporary, words as research permits.

Here are but a few of the historic photographs found in DIEPPE, DIEPPE:

Caption: In Scotland, on a wet and windy July day, Prime Minister Winston Churchill and (to his immediate right) his Combined Operations adviser, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes, watch a practice landing in 1941. Page 21

[Photo credit - Imperial War Museum (IWM), London]

Editor's note: Soldiers appear to be wearing metal helmets*

Caption: Vice-Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten, described as a War Lord 'with no weakness except a total inability to judge men correctly, whether they were his cronies or his subordinates,' questions a soldier while inspecting Canadians at a Combined Operations training centre in 1942. Page 35
[Photo credit - Imperial War Museum, London]
Editor's note: Canadian sailors, perhaps including Albert Kirby and Doug Harrison, appear to be standing at attention in the background, likely at HMS Quebec, Inveraray.

Caption: With one arm still raised in fatal agony, a badly burned body lies on the barbed wire-strewn shingle of Red Beach . In life, this soldier was most probably a sapper whose backpack of high explosive was set alight by enemy fire; the Germans had no flamethrowers in action at Dieppe. Page 99
[Photo credit - ECP Armees]

Caption: Surrounded by the litter of war, and with his face covered with field dressings, a wounded man aboard an LCA waits for medical help. Page 101
[Photo credit - ECP Armees]

Editor's note: I have studied the above photo carefully and cannot make out exactly where the wounded man is lying amidst the dead (possibly) and debris. My father was asked or ordered to clean out ALCs after they returned to England (e.g., Newhaven, Shoreham, Portsmouth or Southampton) and he refused. He lost his first mates at Dieppe.

Please link to more Books re Combined Operations (re Sicily)

*Editor's note: Below is a recent photograph of my father's metal helmet. He is seen wearing it during the initial stages of the invasion of North Africa, November 8, 1942.

Unattributed Photos GH

Presentation: Dad's Navy Days Part 5 (3)

Dad's Navy Days, 1941 - 1945

By G. A. Harrison

D. Harrison, Al Kirby at Roseneath, Scotland before the Dieppe Raid

Introduction: The following post will be part of a Nov. 2016 presentation regarding my father's WW2 service with the RCNVR and Combined Operations organization.

Part 5 - Concerning the Dieppe Raid - Operation Jubilee, August 19, 1942 

Al Kirby, from Woodstock, Ontario participated in the Dieppe raid and a lengthy account of his experience can be found in Clayton Mark's book Combined Operations, pages 38 - 62.

A brief excerpt is presented here:

The Dieppe Raid: August 19, 1942 - Part 6

"Troops coming ashore from a landing craft under a smoke screen during

Combined Operations training at Inveraray, Scotland, 9 October 1941. 

Photo credit to World War II Today

Wednesday Morning, August 19, 1942

Shortly after midnight, the moon had descended below the horizon and although the night was clear it was quite black. Suddenly, dead ahead of us, from the stern of R-84 came a flashing light, dot dash dash dot - - the Morse letter "P". S/Lt. Leach saw it the same time as I did and before I could say anything to him he warned me that that was the signal for refueling. "As soon as we receive the Executive signal," he said, "I want you to cut the power and come to a stop. We are going to refuel now so we will have to shut off our engine and lie to while we are doing it." While we were waiting, I asked if we could leave our engine idling while we fueled, as we were having trouble starting it and we may not be successful this time and have to be towed the rest of the way. He thought about it for a few seconds and then agreed.

Just when the signal light blinked dash dot dot dash - - the Morse for "X", I cut the throttle and we coasted to a stop. What a relief to cut that engine noise. A big cheer came up from all the Camerons as they began a major shift to relieve aching muscles and sore joints. Hop and I jumped onto the upper deck and cut loose the gas cans and began pouring them into the two fuel tanks at the stern. A small flickering light appeared from down inside the craft, as though someone was trying to light a cigarette. I shouted at the top of my voice, "For Christ sake, put that bloody light out, we're pouring gasoline up here and the fumes will be running right down inside the well. Do you want to die even before you hit the beach?" I said that still thinking that we were headed for an exercise, and quite unaware of our final destination.

"Part of the assault fleet gathered for Operation Jubilee"

Photo credit - DND / National Archives of Canada

As we emptied the cans, we threw them over the side hoping that they would sink. After fueling was completed, we could hear the engines of our accompanying craft starting and we all began to jockey about to keep our proper station. Hop took over the wheel to give me a break after more than four hours of watching that little blue light on R-84's stern. Gradually, R-84 began to put a little distance between us and Hop poured on the power and we were back to the grind. I went down inside and sat on the top of the engine casing beside a couple of soldiers, who were now wide awake and chatting with some of the others. "Anyone here from around Woodstock?" I said. "Woodstock, Woodstock," was the reply. "Where the hell is Woodstock?" "Southern Ontario," I answered. "Ontario, Ontario! Is that in Canada? Never heard of it." The fellow beside me leaned over and said quietly, "The Camerons were recruited in Manitoba and Saskatchewan, through Winnipeg." I couldn't resist the chance to counter so I shouted "Winnipeg, Winnipeg! Where the hell is Winnipeg? It must be somewhere beyond Sioux Lookout, but I hear there isn't anything beyond Sioux Lookout!" "Kill him, kill him," went up the shout, just as the Platoon Lieutenant called for silence and instructed everyone to listen while he went over the plan one more time. I listened intently as he continued.

"Now, we expect the beach to be heavily defended, so we have to get across about ten or twenty yards of stoney footing to reach a sea wall, our first cover, just as fast as possible. Taking cover behind this wall, we will organize our sections while No. 1 Platoon finds the breach in the wire along the top of the wall that has been left by the south Saskatchewans. It is essential that we go through that breach the very second that we find it because from that moment on, the breach will be a prime target for machine gun fire." As I listen to him trying to make himself heard over the noise of the engine, a chill begins to creep over me as I slowly absorb the fact that we really are about to land on enemy territory. And even worse, the south Saskatchewan Regiment will be landing ahead of us so the defences will be already in action by the time we hit the beach. My God, why couldn't we be first, then by the time the enemy are in action we may be back off the beach and out of range.

Because my mind is racing about with the possibilities suggested by what I have heard so far, I only hear part of what he said afterwards, but I am astounded when he mentions meeting with the Calgary tanks at Four Winds Farm, about four miles inland and then continuing on to attack an airport nine miles from the beach. I am convinced that this must be the second front, and there must be hundreds of landing craft coming in behind us. My mind swirls with the gravity of what I am hearing. Naturally, I am a little nervous about my own safety, but my overriding feeling is one that is much harder to describe. Transcending my fear is a feeling of betrayal at not being told about this by our own officer. Neither I nor any one of our group, would give up a chance to take part in a real operation against the enemy, no matter what the outcome may be, but I somehow feel cheated by Leach's refusal to let us in on any of the information, even at the last minute. I am certain that the Camerons knew about this before they loaded. After a few minutes of trying to rationalize everything in my mind, I turned to the soldier beside me and asked, "Where in the hell are we going anyway?" Somewhat startled he fired back, "Don't you know? You are supposed to be taking us there. If you don't know, how in the hell are you going to get us there?" "I don't need to know in order to get there. I'm just following the boat in front of me," I replied, "don't worry about that, soldier, we'll get you there, on time and in the right place, but I'm curious about where that is." "It's a coastal town called Deepy," he volunteered, "somewhere in France."

Shortly before 0400, the sky ahead of us suddenly lit up with a myriad of tracer paths knifing into the heavens. Though momentarily startled, we were more dismayed than surprised. We all realized that we were getting close to our target, as the Infantry briefing indicated a touch down time of 0500. Now it appeared that the enemy was awake and at action stations. Our hope of a surprise landing was dashed as we thought we were looking at German anti-aircraft fire in response to an R.A.F. bombing raid. A few minutes later the light on the stern of R-84 began to drift off to starboard and Hop had to adjust our course to 180 in order to keep her dead ahead. I turned to Leach and addressed him. "We've swung around to 180 Sir. Are we heading into Deepy now?" "That would be about right," he answered, "but the pronunciation is Dieppe, not Deepy." "Well you have to realize Sir," I countered with my best Canadian sarcasm, "in the absence of information we are operating completely on hear-say." His silence told me that he did not give a damn what I, or any other lower deck rating thought. I remained beside him in silence as our frail wooden hull continued to be bullied through the calm French waters of the Channel by our faithful Hall Scott. That five minute pyrotechnic display that we saw before 0400 was not repeated, and now, about 0500, the night was lifting and we could see R-84 completely and even beyond. We had now passed our touch down time, daylight was fast approaching and we could not yet see our target. Just then our course swung back to port and settled on 160. "If it's O.K. with you Sir,” I said to Leach, "I'll leave Hop on the wheel for the landing and I'll take care of the smoke generator and the bicycle." "As you wish," was the reply.

About 0515 we could just make out the coastline through the morning haze and it looked like cliffs, still no fire from the enemy, and we can't see any activity ashore. Then our Flotilla leader turned 90 degrees to starboard and we began to parallel the shoreline about one or two miles out. Now we could see flashes of artillery or mortar fire ashore but we were drawing no fire ourselves. Then, all our craft turned 90 degrees to port and we headed into the beach in line abreast. Just as I was climbing up onto the stern to ignite the smoke generator, all hell seemed to break loose, the water ahead of us began to erupt like a massive sea volcano as a rain of mortar fire descended upon the water in front of us. Smoke billowed from our generator and piled up behind us in great clouds that obscured everything in that direction. Plowing through the wall of mortar fire the noise was deafening, but more than that the concussion of each burst pressed on our ears as though we were being smitten with giant pillows. I looked down along the line of landing craft and so far no one seemed to have been hit yet. The Germans seemed to have our range now as the explosions were gushing water all around us. How they could be landing so close without hitting us was almost unbelievable. I am half soaked from the water cascading down on me as I crouch down behind the smoke generator. 

"Landing crafts of troops taking part in Operation Jubilee, Dieppe, Aug.

19th, 1942. On left, a smoke screen conceals them from enemy fire."

Department of National Defence / National Archives of Canada

Looking over the top of the canvas cover, I see the Cameron Platoon Commander pointing off to his right. Looking in that direction, I am amazed at the sight of a piper standing up on the foc’sle of the second boat over, playing away as though he was alone in a field of heather in the rolling hills by Loch Lomond. Shortly before touching the beach the din is joined by the staccato chorus of a number of automatic weapons from the cliffs that spring from either side of the stoney beach in front of us. The roar, the crash, the rattle and smash have reached such a crescendo that it fairly blocks out my ability to appreciate what is taking place around me. Just as I feel the grinding of the hull on the beach, I step forward and undo the lashings on the bicycle on the canvas cover. As the last of the Infantry is jumping down to a dry landing on the stones, I shout to the closest man to take the bike. He looks at me for an instant in disbelief as I attempt to hand it to him, then, ignoring me, he turns and runs for the sea wall, scrambling for all he is worth, stumbling over the bodies of his dead and wounded comrades. I drop the bike in the stones, turn and run back toward the rear of the boat, shouting to Hop as I go, "all clear, all clear, get us to hell out of here Hop!"

As I crouch down behind the still smoking generator for shelter, I burn one of my hands on the hot side of it, as Hop backs off the beach, turns seaward and pours the power to old R-135. I am so glad to hear that engine bark that I am unable to feel any pain in my burned hand. Very shortly, we are buried in the smoke that we had laid down all the way in, and the thought strikes me that I am now on the wrong side of the smoke generator to receive any shelter from it. Jumping down into the now empty well deck, I notice light coming in through the starboard side where we took a burst of machine gun fire. Fortunately for us it caused us no serious damage and nothing was hit on the engine. Charging out through the smoke, we all prayed that we didn't hit anyone coming the other way as we couldn't see beyond our own bow. Good old Hop was clever enough to note our course coming in so that he was able to take us out to safety through the smoke and I thanked our lucky stars that these juicers make such great sailors.

We soon cleared the smoke and sailed out of range of the fire coming from ashore, then picking up the remainder of our Flotilla, we proceeded in line ahead, over to a destroyer and hove to along side of her. Everything looked just great, we have all of our boats and we are sure that we have put the Infantry where they belonged. I can't pick out McKenna's or Lantz's boat from here but I can count twelve boats, so they must be here. Our damage is minimal, with about twenty small holes in the starboard side from small arms fire, but looking around, it is apparent that some of the other boats are not so lucky. I can't get over my admiration for Hop and Grear for the way everything went. Even Leach begins to take on a semblance of humanity.

"Dieppe’s pebble beach and cliff immediately following

the raid. A scout car has been abandoned."

DND / National Archives of Canada

Editor's note:

There are two very good connections to London, Ontario, my current hometown, in Kirby's account of his Dieppe experience.

The first: Al Kirby's story is found in COMBINED OPERATIONS, a significant book written and compiled by Londoner Clayton Marks.

"Sharing WW2 memories, Mr. Kirby included"

The second connection is found in the opening paragraphs to Kirby's lengthy account:

- A Few Days Before the Raid

The shrill Bosuns' call broke the peace of a Saturday afternoon 'Make and Mend' as forcefully as the action bell on a destroyer, or the howl of the air raid alert in Picadilly Circus. "The following ratings report to the quarter deck on the double," it commanded, with the authority and rudeness, so characteristic of the Royal Navy of World War II. "Able Seaman Adlington, Able Seaman Bailey, Able Seaman Belontz... say again, Able Seaman Adlington, Able Seaman Bailey, Able Seaman Belontz, report to the quarter deck, on the double".

I lay on the lockers of our mess deck lazily passing the afternoon, when the Bosuns' call shook me back to reality. Adlington....Adlington....Christ that's me....well, not me, but since I'm standing by for Adlington I'd better get to the quarter deck to see what kind of a dirty job I'm being seen off for now.

 Halifax, 1941: "Addy" Addlington, fourth row back, third from left

 "Addy" Adlington (groom) and new wife Mary, married in Glasgow.

Best man is Chuck Rose, RCNVR and Comb. Ops, w Mary's sister.

As I draw myself to a standing position, I reach my cap off the top locker and jam it down onto my head, square across my eyebrows in true RCN fashion. Out the door of the mess and down two steps to the sidewalk, then turn to skirt two sides of the parade ground in the lovely, August, afternoon warmth, of sunny Hampshire. Of course, I knew better than to cut across the parade ground, for fear that a gunner's mate may be within five nautical miles of me committing such blasphemous conduct, and I would never get finished doing punishment number eleven. As I walked along, my mind wandered back through the last seven or so months: graduating from Torpedo School at Halifax in December, volunteering for 'hazardous work' in small craft with England's Royal Navy, the trip to England in a rust bucket of a troop ship named the 'Vollendam', training through the Spring in southern England and Scotland and now sitting here in barracks at Portsmouth, twiddling my thumbs. My God, what a war! When in the world are we ever going to look down the barrel of a gun and see a Kraut just asking for it.

Here I am, eighteen years old, a fine specimen of a sailor, in great physical shape, fully trained after one and a half years in the finest Navy in the world, and on my way to be given some joe job, like scrubbing the deck in the Wrens' heads. Just think....I could have been living it up in London this weekend if only I hadn't sold my weekend leave to my buddy, Allan Adlington. One pound is a lot of money, but isn't it just my luck that "Addy" would draw some crummy job and I would have to do it for him. As I turned in to the Quartermaster's office, just off the quarterdeck, I reported, "Able Seaman Kirby here." The Quartermaster looked at me with a puzzled expression, "A.B. what?" "Able Seaman Kirby," I replied, thinking what a bunch of dolts these juicers are. "Oh, I mean Able Seaman Adlington....that is....I'm standing by for Able Seaman Adlington while he is on weekend leave".

"Right, well now my son, nip back to the mess and get your attache case, pack whatever you need for a weekend stay and report to the R.P.O.'s office. Don't forget your shaving gear, but remember, no more than you can pack in your attache case. Got it? Right, now 'op to it my lad."

"Terrible action just days away" Photo from The Watery Maze

Editor's final note:

At the time of writing, Mr. and Mrs. "Addy" Adlington live in London, Ontario. I have visited with them a number of times and have always received a very warm welcome. I sometimes wonder if "Addy's" weekend leave included a dance with his future bride. 

Please link to Presentation: Dad's Navy Days Part 5 (2)

Unattributed photos G. Harrison

Presentation: Dad's Navy Days Part 5 (2)

Dad's Navy Days, 1941 - 1945

By G. A. Harrison

Some Dieppe Survivors - Canadians in Combined Operations
Photo - St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol.1, Page 80

Introduction: The following post will be part of a Nov. 2016 presentation regarding my father's WW2 service with the RCNVR and Combined Operations organization.

MY DAD'S NAVY DAYS

Part 5 - Concerning the Dieppe Raid - Operation Jubilee, August 19, 1942 

"I missed going to Dieppe by just one day," my father said during an interview with a reporter from The Brantford Expositor in January 1944. In the newspaper article that followed I read that 'he had been on leave and returned to duty just as the Dieppe casualty lists were coming in. Seven of his combined operations colleagues failed to come back from that cross-Channel venture'. Some had been killed, others taken as prisoners of war.

No doubt the tragic results associated with the Dieppe Raid contributed to his feelings of anger at the time, and survivor guilt in later years.

Al Kirby of Woodstock, one of my father's close mates who participated in and returned from Dieppe on August 19, wrote one of the most comprehensive eye-witness accounts available, i.e., from the point-of-view of a member of the RCNVR and Combined Operations who had been aboard one of the landing craft used to deliver men and material to Dieppe's shore. The 24-page account appears in Combined Operations (1993) by Londoner Clayton Marks, and can also be found in Brereton Greenhous's official history, Dieppe, Dieppe, published by Canada's Department of National Defense (DND) in 1995.

In the book Combined Operations, Kirby's story is preceded by two entries, i.e., a shorter account of the raid by Clayton Marks, and the lists of the Combined Operations personnel and Naval forces (i.e., list of H.M. ships, landing craft and commanding officers) utilized during the raid.

C. Marks writes the following:

DIEPPE - August 19, 1942

It was deemed a failure right from the original plan of operation. The original code word for this landing was "Rutter". It was accepted by Combined Operations and the Home Forces Staffs on April 25, 1942 and the landing was to commence by the 8th of July, 1942. On July 7th the German Air Force flew over Yarmouth Roads and sank landing ships. This, and the bad weather, convinced Mountbatten to cancel the complete operation.

Mountbatten and Churchill had a plan to remount "Rutter" on August 19, 1942 under the code word "Jubilee" with all the same participating forces. The Chiefs-of-Staff were on the wane and Dieppe was desperately needed to restore Combined Operations quickly growing ambitions. Bomber Command could not and would not supply heavy, accurate air bombardment, but could guarantee only limited indiscriminate bombing. The Naval Sea Lord could not supply sea power in the form of battleships due to the recent loss of the battleships "Prince of Wales" and the "Revenge" at Singapore in December of 1941. This left only destroyer sea power of 4 inch guns that could not damage the wall of defense along the French coast. At 2130 on the night of August 18th the landing ships slipped their moorings and headed out to sea on a cloudless and warm evening. The fleet consisted of 237 ships of all sizes from large Infantry landing ships to the 74 LCP's unarmed and unarmoured carrying 6,100 of all ranks.

Many stories and acts of heroism have been told and will be retold over and over again. Officers and men of the British Army, Commandos, Royal Marines, American Rangers, Canadian Essex Scottish, Canadian Engineers, Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders, Hamilton Light Infantry, Fusiliers Mont Royal and the Royal Regiment of Canada, Black Watch, were all involved in this raid.

The perilous honour of the raid fell mainly to the Canadian Army and the Royal Navy, but members of the Naval team from Canada had a share. Training was not sufficiently advanced for the Canadians to operate as separate Flotillas when the Dieppe expedition sailed from Portsmouth, Shoreham and Newhaven on the night of August 18th; but among the British Landing Craft fifteen Canadian Officers and fifty-five Ratings were distributed.

Sub-Lieutenant C.D. Wallace was the first Canadian casualty. He was killed in the dark hours of the morning, when the Flotillas on the extreme left flank of the assault made the fatal encounter with a German convoy. Lt. J.E. Koyl, a Canadian who was to figure in many happier landings, was boat Officer of a Flotilla which included thirty-three Canadians. It left its parent ship, "Duke of Wellington", at 0334. As the craft neared the beach shortly after five, they came under heavy fire from shore. They managed to land their three platoons of the Canadian Black Watch near Puys; but as they were withdrawing the British Flotilla Officer was seriously wounded and Lt. Koyl took charge. Continuing seaward, he transferred the wounded Officer to a British destroyer, and about 1200 when the evacuation of the beach was ordered, led his craft in again through heavy fire from shore and attack from the air.* Before he could beach, however, he was ordered to turn back. German batteries were laying down a curtain of steel that made evacuation an impossibility.

Photo found in St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol. 1, Page 60

Meanwhile, Sub-Lieutenants A.A. Wedd and J.E. Boak, each in command of one of the landing craft (Personnel) which had sailed directly from England, came into shore with their Flotilla a little east of Dieppe harbour. Passing through smoke and into the fire from the German weapons of all calibres, they landed their troops and withdrew. They were sent in an hour or so later to Dieppe harbour itself; but were recalled almost immediately and re-routed to one of the beaches near Puys. As they reached the inner fringe of the smoke shrouding the beach, they came upon a group of Canadian soldiers crouching on a capsized landing craft just off shore, and pinned down by fire. Although the soldiers waved and shouted at them to steer away, the craft ran close alongside, heaved ropes across and managed to rescue three of the men. Then, as the fire from shore blazed up to new intensity, the Flotilla was ordered to turn back from the beach. It was not to go in again. Like all of the other Flotillas, it was to have the memory, most poignant for the Canadians, of having left behind many of the soldiers it had brought ashore.

Unhappy as the immediate results of Dieppe were, the performance of the Canadians in the landing craft had been worthy of their brothers in the Army; and some of them remained with the soldiers as prisoners.

Lt. R.F. McRae stated:

"On August 19, 1942, at dawn, in our R-Boat, with Lloyd Campbell, Richard Cavanagh, Robert Brown and a unit the Fusiliers Mont Royal, we were off the French coast which was invisible behind a heavy smoke screen and from which there came the awful noises of war. About 0730 the Flotilla got orders to go in and land the troops. We quickly formed up in line abreast, went through the smoke screen and saw that we were headed toward a beach under high cliffs with the heads of the enemy looking down over the top and pouring machine-gun fire into our boats. Campbell, who was at the wheel, took a line of bullets across his thighs (and later, as a P.O.W., lost his legs in successive amputations and died before Christmas from gangrene). Cavanagh, who was standing next to him, got it in the chest and died an hour later when his lungs had filled up. Brown, though hit in the stomach, took over the wheel from Campbell. I was the lucky one and received only a piece of shrapnel in the ankle.

In the meantime, the engine had been blown up and was on fire and the plywood hull of the boat was well perforated, but we had enough weight on to make it to the beach. The troops scrambled ashore except for their Captain who had been standing up forward with us and was badly wounded, and I believe, dying. Some of the troops never made it across the beach which was strewn with their bodies, and those who did were easy targets for grenades lobbed down from above. There was no life in the boats on either side of us, and it was, I think, because they could see that I was busy with the wounded and that we were unarmed so that the Germans on the top of the cliffs gave up trying to finish us off.

Some hours later, it was evident that a surrender had taken place when I saw a few German soldiers walking along the beach with a medical orderly. I jumped out of the boat to fetch the orderly for the wounded but our discussion was rudely interrupted by a Corporal with a machine-gun directing me, in no uncertain terms to a crevice in the cliff face, down which a rope had been lowered. A few surviving troops and myself were ordered to hoist ourselves up the rope, hand over hand. I did not see my crew again.

"The drawing of my experiences as a POW pianist"

St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol.1, Page 64

Provenance Bob McRae

I spent the first year as a P.O.W. in handcuffs in a British Army Officers camp and then was shifted to a British Naval Officers camp for the remainder of the war. The last two weeks were spent with a long straggling column of P.O.W.s being marched up to the Baltic and regularly being strafed by our own fighter aircraft.

The loss of Campbell and Cavanagh and later Brown**, as you can see, was a complete waste and unnecessary."

**POW McRae was later reunited with Robert Brown, who had - unbeknownst

to McRae - survived his wound. St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol. 1, Page 65

Clayton Marks continues:

Though there are still some who dispute the value of what was learned at Dieppe, they are not to be found among informed persons or among any who bore high responsibility in the later stages of the war, except for General Montgomery. There are others besides him who have criticized details of the raid, or the retention of Dieppe as the target after the original postponement. Mistakes were certainly made, and the Germans themselves were among their severest critics. They found fault with the rigidity of the plan, the frontal attack, the absence of parachutists, the failure to use bombers, the failure to land tanks at Quiberville. Fortunately they were confirmed in their belief that in our next landing we would go for a large port in the initial stages? and this erroneous conviction colored all their planning. They convinced themselves also that it was on the beaches that we would be most easily defeated, and they made their dispositions accordingly.

In fact we had learned that a frontal attack on a defended port was impracticable, and we never tried it again. A British General is on record as saying, not long afterwards, "Well, if we can't capture a port, we will have to take one with us". The Prime Minister had already and separately had the same idea.

In order that this grim experience should not be for nothing, a full and detailed report, with the lessons learned clearly deduced and codified, was compiled in C.O.H.Q.; printed, and given a wide circulation. No time was wasted in chewing the cud; it saw the light and was being closely studied in a very short space of time. Combined Operations, Pages 26 - 29

* re transferring wounded RN officer to a destroyer. The following newspaper article appeared on February 5, 1944 in The Free Press, London, Ontario.

NORWICH BOYS IN THICK OF TWO INVASIONS BY ALLIES 

LS. BURYL MCINTYRE AND LS. DOUGLAS HARRISON 

WITH “BIGGEST ARMADA OF ALL TIME” 

“I saw my lieutenant, the flotilla officer, ‘get it’ because he did not know the meaning of fear. I saw ship’s gunners being strafed and standing to their guns. I can remember a Bren gunner standing in plain view of wicked cross fire, pouring all he had into the Jerries to cover his mates’ landing.” LS. Buryl McIntyre (right, in photo below), home on leave in Norwich with his friend LS. Douglas Harrison (left) told what he remembered of Dieppe where he was mentioned in dispatches for his work as coxswain of a landing barge.

“It was a dark night in August when we crossed the Channel toward Dieppe. Just at dawn we could discern the coast of France. Out of the dark sky and into the light outlining the coast came a plane diving on gun positions on shore, the guns in his wings and cannon in the nose twinkling much like a ‘Hallowe’en sparkler’. Then as he was just below treetop height, so it seemed, he pulled out and let his bombs go. He zoomed up and set off for home, ‘a job well done’.”

Buryl’s lieutenant was shot down just as they were touching the beach and coxswain Buryl took command of the barge. After landing the troops, he pushed away to find the nearest destroyer to get help for his officer. He picked his way through the maze of boats, all moving as quickly as they could to avoid the bombing and strafing of enemy planes. Another barge drew alongside and tied up to see if there was anything they could do. As it pulled away its tie rope became entangled in the propellor of Buryl’s barge, stopping the engine. Buryl dropped into the water, swam around to the stern of the tossing barge and slowly unwound the rope. Then they pushed on.

He finally got his officer aboard a destroyer and stood by nine hours, waiting and watching. Finally a senior officer commanded him to take his barge home to an English port seventy miles across the Channel from Dieppe. When the Dieppe honours were released Buryl McIntyre was mentioned in dispatches for coolness and courage in emergencies. Later he helped land the British First Army and supplies near Algiers and took part in the Allied landing in Sicily. During the invasion of Italy he was in a North African hospital.

ALC 269 leaving Newhaven, August 21, 1942. C. Sheeler, L. Birkenes 

ALC 269 returning to Southampton from Newhaven.

C. Sheeler and Joe Spencer (under the White Ensign), Aug. 21, 1942

Used with permission of Gary Spencer, collection of Joe Spencer

Please link to Presentation: Dad's Navy Days Part 5 (1)

Unattributed Photos GH