Al Kirby's Account of the Dieppe Raid
Doug Harrison (Norwich, Ont.), Al Kirby (Woodstock, Ont.)
On guard duty in the United Kingdom. Spring, 1942
Joe McKenna died by bullet fire while trying to protect a handful of soldiers standing on an upturned landing craft off the coast of Dieppe, on August 19, 1942.
According to an interview report, made on August 24, 1942, an eyewitness to Joe's death said the following:
"A second boat, believed to be L.C.P.(L) 80, commanded by Sub-Lieut Ben Franklin, RCNVR, picked up the rest of the men from the raft, but lost two of its crew, while Mr. Franklin was himself wounded. One of the ratings killed was a Canadian A.B. (i.e., Able Bodied Seaman) named McKenna, who was firing at the cliffs with a Tommy gun when he was shot through the chest. McKenna said "I am afraid I am hit, Sir", spun round and fell dead."
In a newspaper interview (from early 1944) my father says, “I missed going to Dieppe by just one day."
It is reported 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, including Joe McKenna, failed to come back from that cross-Channel venture." (The Brantford Expositor, circa Jan./Feb. '44)
In a stirring, 25-page report written by Al Kirby after the war, he sheds a great deal of light on the entire operation (the Dieppe raid aka Operation Jubilee). He mentions how he came to be involved in the raid, along with Joe McKenna, and clearly recalls its eventual outcome as it pertained to the soldiers he transported on his landing craft, and to several Canadians in Combined Operations, including McKenna.
Parts of Mr. Kirby's story have been recalled for posterity's sake in DIEPPE, DIEPPE by Brereton Greenhous, and published in cooperation with the Department of National Defence.
Thankfully, as well, Kirby's account can be found in full within the pages of the book entitled Combined Operations, written and compiled by Clayton Marks of London, Ontario.
Below I share excerpts from Clayton's book that pertain to Kirby and McKenna, that reveal something concerning the extent of their roles as Canadians in Combined Ops during the raid.
Dieppe - August 19, 1942 by A.G. Kirby, RCNVR, V4230
Al Kirby's story begins in a barracks in Portsmouth, while he is enjoying a relaxing "Make and Mend" on a Saturday afternoon. An announcement is made that three able seaman must report to the quarter deck - on the double - and Kirby had agreed to stand in for one of them.
He writes:
Here I am, eighteen years old, a fine specimen of a sailor... 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.
Canadians in Combined Ops, Northney III, Hayling Island' circa April 1942.
Al Adlington, London (first left), then Joe Spencer*, Chuck Rose, Doug
Harrison, Art Bradfield*, Don Linder, Joe Watson, Jack Jacobs
(*Joe Spencer (from Chippewa) and Art Bradfield (Simcoe) participated in the Dieppe Raid).
At the Quartermaster's Office Kirby was told to pack whatever he needed for a weekend stay ("no more than what you can pack in your attache case"). On his way out the door he crossed paths with two other sailors reporting to the announcement.
He writes:
As I turned to leave the office, I was met at the door by Lantz and McKenna. A.B. Lawrence Lantz, from the Gatineau area of Quebec, was our Flotilla barber... A.B. Joe McKenna, another well mannered, very likeable and quiet guy, was also about nineteen, but hailed from Souris, P.E.I...
McKenna turned to me, "What's this all about anyway?" (Like Kirby, Lantz and McKenna had agreed to stand in for two of their friends, not knowing what job they might be given).
"Damned if I know", I answered, "The R.P.O. will no doubt give us the bad news when we get over (to his office)".
At the RPO's office the three sailors were asked to fill in a 'Next of Kin' form and told that "am R-boat flotilla needs you for three days and then you will come right back here." They complied and were soon out the door and riding in the back of a lorry to Newhaven.
Kirby writes:
The trip to Newhaven took over three hours and we arrived there just after supper, completely unexpected. No one knew what we were required for, so we were told to pick up some bedding at a store room in a large shed on the jetty and report to the Flotilla Commanding Officer in the morning. At the stores, we were each given one hammock mattress and two Navy blankets. We looked around the shed for a place to lay our heads down.
They found a spot where they could be together and made up their beds for the night. They talked to the sailors nearest them, members of a Royal Navy (British) Flotilla of R-boats who had arrived one day earlier. The Brits thought they were to be involved in "some kind of an exercise... but no one had any actual information."
The next morning, after a rudimentary wash up, the three sailors found the Flotilla Commander.
Kirby writes:
I was told to find landing craft R-135 and report to Sub. Lt. Leach. A grizzly Petty Officer pointed in the direction in which I should begin the search for my craft, so I waved to Lantz and McKenna and took off.
Kirby settled in with his new, English crew and looked over the craft he had been assigned to drive.
He writes:
The balance of the day, I wandered around the jetty, talking with several British sailors to see if I could find out anything about this exercise that we were all preparing for. I thought it was so typical of the R.N. that here we were getting ready to carry out what appeared to be a rather large exercise, and no one knew anything about it.
Finally, since it was Sunday, I decided to look up Lantz and McKenna to see how they were making out. They were as much in the dark as I was, so we decided to go into the town of Newhaven, where we spent the afternoon, had supper, then came back to the jetty and got ready for bed.
On Monday, August 17, there was a good deal of activity on the river at Newhaven, as R-boats and flat-bottomed landing craft made their way upstream to position themselves in a particular order underneath a massive span of camouflage netting, something Kirby had not noticed earlier. He noted that he saw Mckenna's boat (R-84) pass by before his own craft got underway.
He writes:
We spent the balance of the day helping other boats into position and to secure their moorings. As we were about to leave for supper, (Officer) Leach told us we were not allowed to leave the jetty and there would be no more shore leave until further notice.
After supper, Lantz, McKenna and I were sitting on bollards on the jetty, passing the time with small talk, when we noticed the air was getting chilly, so we headed toward the freight shed to sit on our beds and keep a little warmer.
The three Canadians had trouble sleeping that night because the nearby town of Eastbourne was hit by a German bombing raid, and their imaginations likely went to work about the extent of damage and death.
Kirby writes:
As the sunlight retreated even further over the horizon, the vivid red and orange flashes of the bombs exploding in and around Eastbourne seemed to scream out to us of the untold suffering and anguish of countless women and children, unable to react in any way, to ward off the vicious onslaught of the venomous Dorniers and Heinkles that thundered overhead.
Though the concentration of anti-aircraft fire seemed to make it impossible for any machine to survive over the town, the relentless thunder of engines continued to rain a veritable hell of blast and fire on to the defenders of this once beautiful fishing community. The holocaust continued until after 2300 and then, as abruptly as it had started, it was over.
We lay down and tried to sleep, but it was apparent to me, that Lantz and McKenna were having the same trouble that I was in putting out of my mind, the fact that the raging fires and pain and terror were continuing, and would go on until daylight, and beyond.
Tuesday, August 18 "dawned as bright and full of hope as each day of the previous week" and Kirby was impressed "by the number of landing craft" on the river that seemed to be "preparing for something really big."
About mid morning, a Navy lorry arrived on the bank nearest our landing craft, and we were issued a World War I Lewis gun, a brand new Thompson sub machine gun and a case of ammunition for each weapon. Later, another lorry arrived, and each craft received a smoke float, which we fitted to a bracket on the stern of the craft. These smoke floats were a large steel container which resembled a 45 gallon drum.
Kirby was already thinking that "a genuine operation of some kind" was about to occur - with him in the thick of it - when (at 4PM) "infantry units began to arrive on the shore." He could see "the Canada flashes on their shoulders" and really wanted "to see where they were from."
Kirby saw bicycles being stowed, more infantry, even tanks in the area - but still heard not a word about any operation.
After supper boats began to fill with infantry, lots of soldiers squeezed into tight spaces. "Finally, about 2000" (8PM), R-boats and landing craft slipped their moorings and jockeyed for their correct position on the river at Newhaven.
Kirby says:
There was a lot of jockeying for position, as every boat had to be in its proper location in order to keep the various Flotillas where they belonged. We were to take up position ten yards behind R-84, which was McKenna's boat, but he was about fifty yards from us at the moment, with three other craft in between.
Eventually, after much cursing and shouting back and forth, we had R-84 about six feet in front of us and I shouted to McKenna to get that crate out of our way or we would run him down. He gave us a good natured wave and we all settled down to keeping station as we slowly made our way out of the harbour.
The English Channel swell rolled very slowly and gently under our hulls as we picked up speed and the lines of landing craft began to stretch out ahead of us toward the southeast. The sun was very low on the horizon and as I looked out at the calm waters I was greatly impressed with a feeling of responsibility and elation. Here I am at the wheel of a landing craft, loaded to the gunwales with heavily armed, highly trained, strongly motivated Canadian soldiers, headed for what I hope is a real life battle.
We know that Al Kirby, Joe McKenna and Lawrence Lantz were indeed heading toward a real life battle. Kirby and McKenna, travelling across the English Channel like two ducks in a row, were in the same area as the German and Allied craft that crossed paths at 0347 and shot it out, so to speak, resulting in the first death of a Canadian in Combined Ops on that fateful morning.
Kirby writes:
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.
Shortly thereafter, Allied landing crafts are engulfed in smoke of their own making and surrounded by the splash and explosion of mortar and artillery fire from their enemy's guns. The hull of Kirby's craft (R-135) grinds onto the assigned beach and troops disembark under heavy opposition. R-135 then retreated to safety, out of range, along side a destroyer.
Kirby says:
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.
Shortly after 1000 hours the order was given to return to the beach to pick up the Camerons from Green Beach. Kirby felt "very elated", believing "our boys must have completed their tasks" and they could all return to England victorious "over the great German army."
About the return trip to the beaches he writes:
No sooner had we completed the last turn when 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."
Good grief, and 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.
After the Navy shelling the landing crafts and R-boats were instructed to approach the beach again, and once more Kirby's formation started the approach but was soon instructed to turn back, empty-handed. Soon thereafter he learned that his flotilla was returning to England.
About that decision Kirby writes:
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. What happened to them?
As Kirby returned to 'Blighty', as he called it, he inspected the condition of his own craft and the others nearby. He looked for McKenna and Lantz was "unable to to recognize either one." He felt some relief when "dear old England" came into view, and he was now "certain of getting back home."
Once he had tied up at the jetty in Newhaven he "surveyed the shambles throughout the harbour."
He writes:
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... 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.
Late in the evening, upon returning to their beds in the freight shed, Kirby and Lantz "were very dismayed that McKenna was not in his bed," and next morning they noticed his bed was still undisturbed. So, they began to look for his boat amongst the turmoil in the harbour.
Farther down the coast, perhaps on that same morning - or the night before - my father returned early from leave at Calshot Camp in Southampton (he knew 'something big' had taken place), and "was asked to go and clean up ALCs as they struggled back from Dieppe." He says in memoirs that he "absolutely refused. I was so incensed I also refused to go to church there. I went to the door but never went in."
And what would Al Kirby and Lawrence Lantz find as they searched for Joe McKenna?
Kirby writes:
Finally we saw R-84, tied up with the other R boats at the jetty. We crossed over to her and questioned a fellow on the next boat, as she was empty. We were told that R-84 had come in very late last night, badly shot up in the bow section and the seaman and the stoker were both dead, and the officer was badly wounded.
I'm sure that this must have occurred on our second run in, as at that moment I saw chunks of timber flying off the bow of McKenna's boat just before we turned around to head back out to the destroyer again.
Jumping down into Joe's boat, we were greeted by the most gory sight imaginable. The windscreen and supporting posts had been completely shot away. A large section of the forecastle was torn out and lay over the starboard side. In the bilge, slopping back and forth with the motion of the water, was what looked like gallons and gallons of blood. Evidently, poor Joe had taken a burst of machine gun fire through the windscreen and with his chest torn asunder, collapsed into the bilge along with his Stoker. They both died immediately, we were told, and lay together in a pool of blood all the way home. For Joe and his English Stoker, R-84 had become a plywood coffin.
Later that day they learned there was a funeral service planned in Newhaven the next day. Kirby and Lantz both planned to go "in the hopes of finding McKenna," i.e., amongst the dead. Unfortunately, they were ordered to return to Portsmouth the next day and, as a result, they could not attend the funeral.
ALC 269 leaving Newhaven, August 21, 1942. C. Sheeler (front),
L. Birkenes (back). Used w permission, Joe Spencer
ALC 269 returning to Southampton from Newhaven.
C. Sheeler (left), Joe Spencer under the White Ensign.
Used w permission, from the collection of J. Spencer
Kirby finishes his account related to the Dieppe raid by listing his opinions, pro and con, about the raid's planning and outcomes. Though they are of value, my intent here is to reveal something of the extent of the role of Canadians in Combined Ops during the raid, including Joe McKenna, one who was lost that day.
Joe volunteered for RCNVR, for 'hostilities only' in Charlottetown May, 1941 and 15 months later he found himself in a landing craft as a favour to a mate. On August 19, 1942, under a cloud of smoke and facing a rain of bullets, he faced hostilities so sharp and fierce they very well pierced his chest and heart and lungs and spin him round to die on the floor of R-84.
I have no single photograph of Joe in his navy uniform. Knowing he likely volunteered for Combined Operations (C.Ops.) at HMCS Stadacona near the time my father did, I checked my father's group photo and list of names that accompanied it (of the Effingham Division, the first draft of Canadian volunteers for C.Ops.), but Joe's name does not appear. So, the search is on for a photo and list of names for the second draft of volunteers that travelled to the United Kingdom at the same time as the first draft, in January, 1942.
That being said, thanks to Al Kirby's written report and Doug Harrison's memoirs, we know that Joe, though lost during the Dieppe Raid, was not forgotten. His mates did their level best to search for him and would have attended his funeral if orders had not been given to return landing crafts to Portsmouth or Southampton.
Joe McKenna of Pownal, PEI, lies buried in Newhaven, Sussex, England.
If an exact address or grave plot number can be found I will list it here.
Editor's Note:
In June, 2026, I visited Newhaven and Joe McKenna's grave site. A Part 4 to this series re AB Joe McKenna will soon follow with many photographs of the site and surrounding area.
The 'exact address or grave plot number' now follows, as told me by Mr. Honey, connected to the Newhaven Cemetery:
There is not a reception at the Newhaven cemetery but, I believe the grave you are looking for is in Section I, number 610, which is shown in the attached map* as a red dot. You will enter the main gates from Lewes Road and go straight ahead through the Archway where the two chapels are and carry on forward taking a left at the pathway before reaching sections F & E before arriving at Section I (a five minute walk).
* re map. It was sent to me with the above details, but I did not save a copy except for the one I took with me to England in May-June, 2026. It now cannot be found but the cemetery can still be reached for information for those interested in visiting Joe's grave. Plus, I will provide helpful photographs of the graveyard and more (re Newhaven) in future entries re Joe McKenna's gravesite. GH
In the above photo** of about half of the Effingham Division outside Wellington Barracks at HMCS Stadacona, Halifax (circa late 1941 or early 1942), we see two sailors that appeared in two earlier photos (of ALC 269). Joe Spencer is top row, first on the left. Charlie Sheeler is middle row, third from left. And, there is only one sailor marked as 'unknown' in the photo's list of names. Top row, second from right.
(**part of my father's collection, with list courtesy of Joe Spencer's family)
A photograph of Joe McKenna will soon appear in Part 4 of this series.
Unattributed Photos GH
