Tragedy at Dieppe Read online

  Private Clarence Flemington thought the run across the beach “the worst thing I ever hope to see. To see good men die like flies.”32 Company Sergeant Major George Gouk had known “it was going to be hell going to the boats as we could see the bullets knocking up the sand and shells bursting right along the beach... the ‘Nazi’ gunners sure took a heavy toll, it was pretty hard to see the boys being knocked out after all they had done. Those left crawled and dragged a pal along with him.”33

  Journalist Wallace Reyburn ran for the boats, cursing as he stumbled in his clumsy army boots. “The sound of explosions and the whistle of bullets rang in my ears, but I didn’t think about the prospect of being hit or blown to bits. I thought about only one thing—getting to that boat.” It was the one grounded by the weight of men aboard. Reyburn joined in dragging it seaward. When the boat floated, he and the others grabbed hold of long, looping lifelines hanging from the sides. “As we went I noticed the young lad next to me lose his grip. He grabbed frantically at the rope again, but the boat slipped away from him. He was too exhausted to swim after us, and I saw him standing waist-deep in the water, watching us go. I shall never forget the look on that boy’s face. It was a look of utter hopelessness. He’d come so far, almost got into the boat, and now we were going without him.”

  The men hung shoulder-to-shoulder from the lines. Soon Reyburn’s hands grew icy cold and numb. The steel side of the LCA was wet and slippery. A bullet whistled past, “went right through the brain of the man next to me... his tin hat clanked against mine as he went down. One moment he’d been alive... and the next split second dead... He floated away face downward on the water.”

  When the LCA began sinking, Reyburn was surprised to see it was only about two hundred yards offshore. He’d imagined they had made greater gains. He also noticed “dozens of tin hats floating on the surface.” Reyburn was finally dragged aboard another LCA. Soon its captain shouted that there were too many aboard and their weight was sinking the boat. All guns, webbing, uniforms, boots, and the dead went over the side. But more men crowded aboard, lowering the craft “almost flush with the water.” About the time the boat started sinking, a tug-sized support vessel came to the rescue.34

  “It was on the beach that we lost quite a number of men who were like brothers to us,” Private E.G. Bird wrote. “Under terrific M.G. fire and mortar fire we raced to the beach, missing death by only fractions of an inch. The beach was the most gruesome place I ever saw. Our boys lay there, not a breath of life left. Some were pretty blown to pieces. Although the tide was out we made a mad dash for the boats which we finally succeeded in getting [on] amid heavy fire.”35

  When Private P.J. Gobin reached one LCA after a mad dash across about four hundred yards of bullet-swept beach, he found it already full. Gobin swam until picked up by another LCA.36

  Major Norman Ross stayed until he was certain most Camerons and some Sasks had either been picked up or killed escaping. Quite a number of men still hugged the seawall, hesitating to risk the beach. Several large, boxy LCMs stood off the beach, just inside the thinning smokescreen, waiting for men to swim to them. Between the low tide and German fire, there was too much risk of losing the LCMs if they tried landing. “Okay fellows, we’re going to make it,” Ross shouted. “The alternative to sitting here and being captured is to run across that beach and into the water right out to the boats out there. Now who’s with me? Line up against that wall and spread out and let’s go.” Ross led the charge, not looking back, not knowing how many followed and how many stayed behind. Most of the men were prairie boys and did not know how to swim. Ross waded out, shedding his web kit with the revolver and compass. As he started swimming, Ross glanced back. There were more men with him than expected. But some were floating, struck dead by bullets or shrapnel. Bullets spattered the water around him. Ross reached an LCM.37

  Behind the escaping Camerons, the covering party continued shrinking its lines until it held just the buildings bordering the esplanade. As ordered by Merritt, most of the Sasks had waited until the Camerons were gone before attempting their own escape. Private Victor Story joined a group at the battalion’s RAP behind the seawall. There was no organization here, so when a couple of LCAs arrived, “everyone seemed to run to the one boat, this caused [it] to upset.” Story got away aboard a different LCA.38

  Saskatchewan medical officer Captain Frank Hayter tried to coincide the moving of wounded from the seawall to the water’s edge with the arrival of LCAs. “This was done under very heavy machine-gun and mortar fire. The majority of those wounded during the crossing... had to be left to look after themselves as it was suicide to try and stop and care for them. Many were wounded after embarking on [LCAs] and were attended by their companions... The majority of casualties among the stretcher bearers were received while carrying wounded across the beach... Some... making repeated trips.”39

  Lieutenant Ross MacIlveen took charge of about 120 Sasks and Camerons close to the western headland. Seeing that the LCAs were all landing at the centre of Green Beach, he had smoke canisters thrown to blind the Germans on the headland. Then the men double-timed it to the LCAs. Merritt was there by the seawall and “wished me luck...We had to swim about 400 to 600 yards through water riddled with MG and sniper bullets, and mortar bombs. The major part of my platoon succeeded in reaching [LCAs] and finally a destroyer.”40

  Merritt, meanwhile, had spotted a wounded man drowning and had run to him. As he carried the man to the safety of the wall, a sniper bullet struck him in the left shoulder. Merritt also suffered a facial wound. “Throughout the day,” Captain John Runcie observed, Merritt’s “actions were almost incredibly gallant. It wasn’t human, what he did.”41 Merritt’s heroism, reported by so many, would be recognized with the third Victoria Cross granted in the Dieppe raid.

  Wounded, Merritt could have been one of the last evacuated. He never considered the idea. “I did know what to do, which was to continue... and not to evacuate myself. I was to help evacuate the others.”42

  Lieutenant John Edmondson still clung to the pub by the bridge, his group shrinking rapidly due to casualties. Unsure of the overall situation, he ran to the eastern end of the beach and saw no signs of life through the smoke. A loaded LCA was pulling out. Its captain shouted, “Goodbye, fellows. We’ve been told not to come in again.” Disheartened, Edmondson returned to the pub. The men continued holding the Germans back until they became “desperately short of ammunition.” When they were sure to be overrun, Edmondson ordered a withdrawal. His men joined some others against the seawall and close by the river, forming a group of about twenty. Between them they had a single 2-inch mortar round and two Bren gun magazines. Some were wounded. Because of the beach’s curve, Edmondson was unable to see the main body of Sasks at its centre. He thought his were the only men left. “Couldn’t move ten feet from the seawall without getting shot.” An LCA appeared well out to sea but headed generally towards them. “Well fellows, this is your chance to get home,” Edmondson said. “You want to go, you have to start for that craft. And once you leave the protection of this beach wall, anybody who gets shot, nobody stops for them. If you stop, you’re dead.” Edmondson dropped his rifle, pulled his pistol and shouted, “Let’s go.”43

  He figured about fifteen men followed, the others standing by the wall in doubt. They ran to the water and started wading. “It seemed a hell of a long way to go, almost endless, when I was being shot at... Not more than five or six of us got aboard. The landing craft turned and headed straight out, bullets ricocheting off the metal sides.”44

  Private J. Krohn had watched the first LCA lifts from the safety of the seawall. There seemed then a long interval with no landing craft visible. By noon, “things looked very heartbreaking. Enemy machinegun firing upon us on the beach, every half minute, boys passed away, blood everywhere. Everybody took it wonderfully and always thought of someone else and never himself.” When a couple of LCAs landed,
Krohn, Private Bud Evenden, and Corporal Leonard Roy Chilton ran for one. “Chilton was badly wounded so we had to carry him.” The LCA had grounded turning about. “Those that could, pushed and heaved to push her off. It took all of twenty minutes to get her free. Fire was heavily laid down by Ack Ack and artillery on our small craft. We got it free eventually and then I climbed on deck. Chilton and Bud were laying there on deck, so I started to drag Chilton under cover. He received an Ack Ack shell in the stomach and a moment later another in the hip. Evenden received a wound in the head, but I managed to get them under cover. Chilton died a few moments later. While this happened our boat was riddled by bullets and started to leak badly. The sailor flagged for a [destroyer] to come to our rescue. We were only halfway out when we were told to swim for the [destroyer]. So I stripped and swam for it. The rest of the boys were transferred to the [destroyer]. I was given a good drink of rum and this was God sent, it gave me more strength. I spent three hours dressing the wounded... How I came out unwounded is a mystery.”45

  “We had a long stretch of beach and a long stretch of water to cover to get to our craft which stayed out in five feet of water,” Captain Buck Buchanan wrote. “No words can describe the sheer display of courage and bravery that dominated that half hour of hell. Our stretcher bearers repeatedly carried wounded out to those boats and came back for more. Many of the lads... owe their lives... to the stretcher bearers’ coolness and guts.

  “And the Navy chaps cannot be forgotten, again and again they came in for us, through that curtain of lead and steel, to take us out to the larger boats. But at last, the ordeal was over and as the last craft left the shore, we saw the fellows who had to stay behind waving us on and still keeping the Jerries away from the seawall.”46

  By the time the LCA carrying Buchanan left, the covering party had withdrawn to the seawall. A long stretch had been under repair and had scaffolding erected alongside. The scaffolding enabled the soldiers to stand and fire over the wall at the Germans taking up position in the buildings facing the beach. Merritt commanded, with Runcie acting as the senior Cameron. They kept fighting “in the hope that boats would come in to take them off. The boats, however, did not return.” Runcie thought this best. It “would have indeed been suicidal for the LCAs to have attempted to come in again after the enemy had fully established himself on the headlands on either side of the village.” Twice after the last LCAs withdrew, a half dozen Spitfires “swept in and heavily machine-gunned the beach, doubtless under the impression that it was in enemy possession.” The attacks caused some casualties.

  Scouts reported “the enemy... pressing forward in steadily increasing numbers.” Merritt and Runcie discussed options. Runcie suggested that “all the officers should be asked their views, and a ‘confab’ took place accordingly. There was now comparatively little ammunition left, particularly for the automatic weapons. The officers discussed whether to fight to the last man and the last round, or to surrender in order to prevent further loss of life; and as it seemed clear that no further damage could be done to the enemy it was unanimously decided to surrender. The men on the scaffolding, who were still firing, were called down, and we chucked our weapons down and called it a day.” It was about 1500 hours.47 The Germans arrived within minutes. “We were not very far apart,” Merritt said. “They were just soldiers. And I think they were good soldiers. They treated us properly.”48

  At least a dozen LCAs, one LCM, and a French chasseur participated in Green Beach’s evacuation. Four LCAs were sunk.49 The decision to end the rescue effort was due to misinformation. By 1215, there were reports that no more soldiers were visible on Green Beach. Sub-Lieutenant Kenneth Tew of LCA187 had successfully lifted forty men from the beach, including Flight Sergeant Jack Nissenthall, and transferred them to a destroyer. An officer there told Tew “it was impracticable to beach again and this tallied with my own theory, but I took craft beyond the smokescreen where I had a good view of the beach. There was no one there, except a few soldiers in the water who were swimming towards the other boats.” A little later, Sub-Lieutenant H.E. Snead returned with LCM21 “to the beach, but saw no live men, either in the water or on the beach.”50

  The Sasks and Camerons suffered heavy casualties—65 per cent of their total strength. But this was far less than on the other Canadian beaches. Total Cameron casualties numbered 24 officers and 322 other ranks. Of these, 5 officers and 55 other ranks were killed. One officer and 7 other ranks died later of wounds, and 8 other ranks died in captivity, for a total fatality count of 76. A further 167 officers and men were taken prisoner. Of the Camerons who returned to England, 9 officers and 94 other ranks were wounded. Saskatchewan casualties totalled 339. Three officers and 75 other ranks were killed, 3 other ranks died of wounds, and 3 died while prisoners, for a total of 84 fatalities. Eighty-nine officers and other ranks captured survived imprisonment. The number of wounded Sasks reaching England was high—7 officers and 159 other ranks.51

  23. Sorry, Lads

  Lieutenant Colonel Bob Labatt knew the withdrawal from White and Red Beaches in front of Dieppe would be bloody. By 1100 hours, runners had spread the word that boats were expected. A runner even notified Lieutenant Colonel Fred Jasperson, who alerted his Essex Scottish. Fire from the headlands steadily increased as additional mobile artillery and 81-millimetre mortars arrived. Labatt saw machine guns, mortars, and artillery firing on the beach from just 250 yards away. “The day was sunny and the only cover for troops crossing the beach was light smoke from burning tanks, landing craft, bursting projectiles, and the abandoned vehicles themselves. I was just wondering how many would survive the gauntlet when from the east appeared two [Bostons] flying at 200 feet along the water’s edge. They laid the most perfect smoke screen I have ever seen, from one end of the beach to the other... Under cover of the smoke which drifted slowly inland, small groups began to climb through the wire and move towards the water. The first and largest was a crowd of German prisoners, carrying our wounded from the casino, some using doors and other makeshift stretchers.”1

  Although the Rileys were able to organize themselves somewhat, the Essex Scottish and most of the Fusiliers were too exposed to make any real preparations. Most of the tank crews were also pinned in place by a reluctance to abandon the comparative safety of their Churchills for open beach. Lieutenant Ed Bennett and his crew were exceptions. After expending their ammunition, they left Bellicose for the wrecked LCT5. Bennett sat with his back against the LCT’s steel side, occasionally lifting his left eyelid to peek at the surrounding “chaos.” With him were Troopers Rinehard “Bob” Cornelsen, Bill Stannard, Len Storvold, and Archie Anderson. “They’re bringing in some Assault Craft to take us off,” Anderson finally told Bennett. The lieutenant considered, imagining the initial panic. “Well, Archie, we’ll take the second flight,” he decided.2

  Due to Commander H.V.P. McClintock’s premature withdrawal of landing craft, fewer were coming to Red Beach than originally scheduled. This error was exacerbated by the six Prince Leopold LCAs bound for Red Beach that lost course and ended up at Green Beach. The first flight of boats was also late, and as it closed on the shore at 1120, the smokescreen was thinning.

  Five LCAs landed in front of the casino. From the wrecked scout car where he and Major Gordon Rolfe were maintaining the vital wireless link to Calpe, Brigadier Bill Southam watched as the Rileys’ plan—to load the wounded first—fell apart. “Their approach was a signal for a headlong rush of several hundred men, who waded into the water—shoulder deep—in an attempt to board them. Some boats were hit, some were swamped—it was my thought that certainly none would get away.”3

  Naval lieutenant Peter Ross, sheltering wounded at LCT3, saw two LCAs knocked out by German fire before gaining the beach. He tried to stop the others from being overwhelmed by the mad rush of soldiers. Plunging into the sea, Ross waded to the nearest loaded LCA and ordered its captain to “go full speed astern in order to get clear, but th
e few extra men who had managed to scramble aboard, together with timely enemy fire, upset the trim of the craft and she sank. One of the remaining craft received a direct hit and sank but the third managed to get away to sea... At this stage of the action the beach was strewn with dead and the sea dotted with those who had been killed or drowned in the water.”4

  Sergeant Major Lucien Dumais tried to clamber aboard an LCA by climbing the lifelines. But the weight of his waterlogged field pack and other equipment caused him to lose hold. He plunged into eight feet of water. Dumais crawled along the bottom, swallowing seawater and nearly drowning, until he gained the shallows and lifted his head above the surface. Dumais staggered to LCT5 and helped tend wounded.5

  Sergeant George Hickson watched “a great rush of infantry down from the centre of the beach towards the boats. Instead of scattering... they seemed to concentrate on a few craft, and the crowd of men around these craft drew heavy fire.” Hickson swam to an LCA well offshore, finding it so crammed “that the door could not be closed and it was in danger of sinking.” Hickson ordered the men to bail with their helmets, urging them to sing to establish a rhythm. Finding he was “singing alone,” Hickson decided “this sounded rather foolish [and] desisted.” The LCA soon transferred its passengers to a support boat and headed back towards the beach. For the first time, Hickson checked himself over—two bullet holes in the left sleeve of his tunic, another through a trouser leg. But nothing more than a barbed-wire scratch.6