From a Prisoner's Wartime Log 1942 - 1945.
Photo - A11245. The British Navy's part in the Combined Operations daylight
raid on Dieppe. 20 August 1942. The end of HMS BERKELEY.
Photo Credit - Lt. L. Pelman, Royal Navy photographer,
Admiralty Official Collection, Imperial War Museum
In the book "Ticket to Hell" we read about Canadian troops aboard British landing crafts attempting to disembark at Dieppe, on the French coast, under heavy fire from well-entrenched German forces. We read about the deaths of many, and the capture and imprisonment of many more, from the pen of A. Robert Prouse, a survivor of the tragic events of August 19, 1942.
In the record of Prouses' wartime log we learn of his time on the beach, his capture, time in hospital, his several attempts to escape prison camp, and his eventual rescue. Significantly, he includes two sentences about a fellow prisoner who was grievously wounded on the same beach, a member of RCNVR known to my father and other Canadians in Combined Ops - a very rare coincidence.
"The report in the POW newspaper The Camp carried the German
propaganda that the raid on Dieppe was in fact an invasion."
Photo credit - "Ticket to Hell", page 10
A few excerpts follow from Mr. Prouses' work and about a wounded member of RCNVR and Combined Ops.
The Whistle of Shells, the Steel Helmet
As the ramp of our landing craft was lowered
at about 05:40, the men in the front row started to fall.
Others, myself included, tried to hug the side of the craft.
We could see that these bastards weren't fooling...
Finally, I got tired of being a sitting duck
and ran to the front, stepping over all the bodies.
I jumped into the sea yelling, "Let's get the hell out of here."
I was up to my thighs in the water and still don't know
how I got to shore without being hit.
I threw my body on to the coarse gravel beach
and squirmed my way towards the concrete sea wall.
I had to get through a mess of barbed wire
already strewn with bodies
and finally pulled myself up to the wall where
a soldier lay dead, draped over the barbed wire
that ran along the top. Carefully I raised my head
to try and see what was happening
on the other side of the wall but quickly withdrew it,
for it seemed that the whole German army
was shooting at me personally...
I made my way to a burning scout car, which afforded some protection.
I flopped down behind it and found three or four men from our company.
Scanning the beach from left to right, all I could see were prone bodies.
I was unable to tell the dead from the living, as everyone was hugging the ground.
Heavy fire continued to come from every direction at once,
making it impossible to group and form some plan of action.
Looking out over the water, I could see our navy bombarding the town
and could hear the whistle of shells going over our heads.
This was great but it did not cause any lull
in the heavy fire that rained down on the beach.
What we needed was air support, a heavy bombing
to silence some of the guns and allow us to move into town
with at least some chance of survival...
There was a blinding explosion
as a mortar shell hit the scout car.
All I could feel was a numbing sensation
in my legs as shrapnel entered my flesh.
As the smoke cleared, I adjusted the steel helmet
that had been knocked down over my eyes.
Four of my fingers went through a hole that had been blown in it
and for a moment I panicked and tore off the helmet to feel my head,
fully expecting my hands to come away covered with blood.
There wasn't even a scratch...
Pages 12 - 13
* * * * *
Gallant Navy Men and a White Handkerchief
Around 11:00, we heard a shout from the beachmaster
and suddenly realized that planes were approaching very low
and laying a smoke screen over our heads.
LCTs* were approaching to try to evacuate us.
They came rushing in with their front ramps dropping,
not coming too close because of the heavy gunfire.
As soon as they reached a certain point
we could hear the roar of reversed engines
as they started to move backwards very slowly.
The troops ran into the sea in a mad scramble,
trying their damnedest somehow to board the craft
and escape this hell.
Men were mowed down by machine-gun fire.
The LCT directly in front of where I was standing
received a direct hit from a bomb that had been dropped
by one of the dive bombers. All around me,
arms, legs and bits of what had been brave men
flew into the air. In the lulls between explosions,
I could hear the screams of the badly wounded.
Many craft lay crippled and sinking but others still approached,
manned by gallant navy men who seemed to disregard
the screaming lead that was hurtling in their direction...
As I stood there, watching the carnage, I could feel
the sea gently nudging my legs as the tide came in.
It was then that I realized that the water was no longer green
but an angry red, stained by the blood of the dead and dying...
I felt no fear because I wasn't there at the moment.
I was detached from the whole bloody scene,
watching the tragedy from afar.
I was a silent spectator
at a mass sea burial...
Slowly, I became aware that a deathly silence had settled over the beach.
No more boats approached and all I could see in the distance was the smoke
from the funnels of the navy vessels as they returned to England.
I realized it was all over as the beachmaster shouted instructions
for everyone to throw their arms into the sea
and get rid of all identification...
A soldier stepped out from behind
our craft waving a white handkerchief.
A shot rang out and he dropped from sight.
(Soon) there were no more shots
and we could hear the guttural shouts
ordering us to come out and surrender.
We emerged one by one and I was amazed
at how close the enemy had been,
with just the LCT separating us.
It was about half past one on a sunny afternoon,
and for us the war was over.
*Landing Craft, Tanks
Pages 16 - 20.
* * * * *
For more information about the aforementioned "gallant navy men" I turn to prose written by Lt. Robert McRae, RCNVR and Combined Operations, a navy officer taken as POW at Dieppe, perhaps within a half-mile of where A. Robert Prouse' war came to an end.
Machine Gun Fire Poured Down Into the Boats
McRae, from Toronto, became an officer in 1942, in time to train in Scotland with other Canadian officers, Ordinary Seamen and Able-Bodied Seamen (O/Ss, A/Bs, also known as ratings, including my father). For these early drafts, the first action for which they trained was (unknown to them) the Dieppe raid.
McRae continues:
On to late afternoon, August 18th,
when the officers of our flotillas of landing crafts
were briefed at Lancing College, a boy's public school...
At the briefing we learned that it was the Fusiliers Mont-Royal
that we were putting on the beach before (at) Dieppe...
and that we'd use R-boats, which we'd trained on,
small, fast little boats made of plywood with no armour,
crew of three and an officer, carrying twelve to fifteen soldiers.
but capable of making it alone across the Channel...
I found my three-man crew already in the boat,
having been separately briefed. They seem quite subdued,
but cheered up a little when we moved from the harbour at sunset
and began the night-long passage in line astern
through a swept enemy minefield
to the Channel's other side. The sea was very calm
with no light from the moon. About 3 AM we made out quite plainly
illuminations of a naval action just over the horizon,
with gun flashes, tracer bullets and explosions...*
Coming out on the other side 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.
Photo Credit - Front cover of Dieppe Dieppe, Brereton Greenhous
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 amputations
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 prose entitled Dieppe: The Landing, found on pages 61-62 of St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941-1945, Volume 1
*A 'German coastal convoy' and Canadian crafts crossed paths, fired upon one another, resulting in the first Canadian deaths re Dieppe. It is argued that this change meeting in the Channel ruined the chances of surprise that Allied success depended upon at Dieppe.
Below is a list complied by my father (on leave on Aug. 18-19, 1942) of those members of RCNVR, Combined Operations who died as the result of wounds taken at Dieppe:
Found in St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941-1945
"the drawing of my experiences as a POW pianist" Provenance Bob McRae
* * * * *
Canadian prisoners, Dieppe (source unknown)
The following excerpts from Prouse's secret, POW log tell part of the tale:
To Stalag 9C and a Chance Meeting
actually four long days and four endless nights,
we arrived at our destination, the town of Stadtroda.
I was glad the journey was over...
Much to my surprise, British soldiers in uniform
boarded the train. For a moment I thought we were being rescued,
but as it turned out they were members of the British medical Corps,
assigned to the hospital in Stadtroda to work under a British Major
who was a skilled Harley Street surgeon. He in turn
was under the German hospital Commandant.
We were quickly and efficiently unloaded and transported
to the hospital, which was part of Stalag IXC (9C).
We were fingerprinted and photographed the next day,
after supplying our name, rank and serial number.
Then we were issued POW dog tags. I became No. 43071
and as such, after dark, I stole out of the ward and made my way
to the room where I had learned the records were kept.
I was an avid collector and just had to see and possess
my official prison photo. It was fairly easy to steal
but hard as hell to keep, what with the constant searches.
The nights were long in the hospital.
It was difficult to sleep while trying to
shut out the groans and moans of the wounded.
The bed next to mine was occupied by who else
but the chief moaner from the train journey. We never spoke;
we only glared at each other with mutual dislike.
On my other side was a very badly wounded private*,
and although he must have been in great pain,
he never uttered a whimper. He died within the week
as gangrene had set in and could not be curbed,
even after amputating his leg...
The remaining days in hospital were passed
shooting the breeze, exchanging stories of our experiences
on the beach at Dieppe... my period of recuperation
lasted until November, when I was discharged from
the hospital and shipped to another part of Stalag IX9,
on the outskirts of Molsdorf.
From Pages 28 - 32, "Ticket to Hell"
* I am very confident that the 'wounded private', dressed in hospital clothes - the same as everyone else - and in the bed beside A. Robert Prouse is Lloyd G. Campbell of London, mentioned by Lt. Robert McRae and Doug Harrison in their previously mentioned accounts. Prouse and Campbell were in the same camp at the same time, according to my research.
This page of Prouse' records was stolen from the POW camp's office.
As found in "Ticket to Hell"
The information that informs my opinion that the 'wounded private' is Lloyd Campbell can be found on this website, in five entries. My desire to locate more information about Mr. Campbell springs from the knowledge that my father met Lloyd on their way to southern England (and recorded the meeting in his navy memoirs) in preparation for the Dieppe raid, unbeknownst to either of them.
As well, last year I found a news clip in The Winnipeg Tribune (an issue from November, 1942) concerning Mr. Campbell's death at Stalag 9C, Germany. The short news clip opened a very important door of research for me, and I found, among many other significant details about Lloyd's WW2 service, the last words he was able to send home. I encourage you to link to Lloyd Campbell's Records for more details if desired.
Please link to Passages: Sholto Watt, War Correspondent for The Montreal Star (1)
Unattributed Photos GH
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