by Mark Zuehlke
Most of Leigh-Mallory’s aircraft were fighters drawn from fifty-six squadrons. Fifty provided the covering force. Forty-six of these flew Spitfires, four American P-51 Mustangs, and the other six Hurricanes. There were also four bomber squadrons. Two were equipped with Bostons—light two-engine bombers with a two-thousand-pound bomb load capacity—and the others with Hurricane fighters converted to a bombing role. Three squadrons of smoke-laying Blenheim bombers were available, either carrying smoke bombs or fitted with SCI (Smoke Curtain Installation) aerial spray tanks that spewed out smoke in the manner of a crop-duster. Typhoon fighter-bombers from four Army Co-Operation Force squadrons also supported the raid.3
A detailed mission schedule had been set in place, but it was not inflexible. Leigh-Mallory realized the normal chaos of battle would require rapid responses to unforeseen emergencies. Aboard Calpe and Fernie, RAF personnel maintained continuous wireless links to Uxbridge. Under Commodore Adrian Cole’s direction, RAF controllers could communicate with both Uxbridge and the planes directly overhead. The flight leader of the lowest-altitude fighter squadron in the covering force was in wireless contact with RAF controller Acting Squadron Leader James Humphreys Sprott on Fernie, who could vector fighters against any threatening German aircraft. Flight Lieutenant Gerald Le Blount Kidd on Calpe would link up with the close-support fighters and fighter-bombers as they appeared over the coast. If a target other than their assigned one presented itself, he would redirect them to it. Calpe was also linked to Uxbridge, and either Major General Roberts or Captain Hughes-Hallett could at any time request additional fighter or bomber support.
The system would prove its worth. Although pilots of close-support missions were well briefed on their target types and locations, the controller on Calpe was often required to help direct them. And in the fury of the dogfights that began raging over the fleet immediately after dawn, it was “the running commentary given by the controller” in Fernie that helped covering fighters engage enemy aircraft. “There was no doubt that this local control was largely responsible for the high percentage of interceptions made on enemy aircraft,” Leigh-Mallory wrote, “thus greatly minimizing the effectiveness of enemy air strikes on ships and troops.”
Just before midnight on August 18–19, Uxbridge Headquarters came alive with RAF personnel. Dozens of signallers manned the elaborate communications system. Plotters hovered over an immense map dominating the centre of the room, quietly shifting pins and markers that designated aircraft, ship, and army unit locations to accord with the latest information streaming in. German dispositions were also plotted. A couple of hours before dawn, Mountbatten and Lieutenant General Harry Crerar joined Leigh-Mallory. Little more than spectators, Crerar and Mountbatten exuded cheerful confidence. Leigh-Mallory remained “grim, barely speaking and rarely smiling.” Safeguarding the army and naval forces from air attack weighed heavily.4
Across southern England, pilots and crews mustered in the dark at twenty-three bases. Men pulled on clothes intended to keep them warm and comfortable in tight cockpits—roll-neck or pullover sweaters and silk scarves or collarless shirts to prevent neck chafing due to the constant swivelling of heads. Breakfast was special, at least one egg served alongside the normal toast and preserves. In the flying huts, they donned boots, Mae Wests, goggles, gloves, and soft leather helmets.
It was a cold morning, with the coastal bases wrapped in a lingering ground fog. But inland it was clear. Some squadrons reported stars overhead.5 Although all squadrons were mustered, some would not sortie for hours. Leigh-Mallory’s plan called for a slow rollout that corresponded with the increasing visibility and the raid’s escalation.
The first planes to arrive over Dieppe were Spitfires from Squadrons 65 and 111. Taking off in darkness at 0420 and 0415 respectively, they arrived over Dieppe at 0445. Scheduled to arrive at the same time were six Bostons, two each from three squadrons. They were to attack the Hitler and Goering batteries. Although one Boston was forced to abort because of landing gear failing to retract, the others appeared at 0459 hours. Each released two 500-pound and sixteen 40-pound bombs on either battery. Light was too poor to truly measure the effect, but several large explosions were noted that might have resulted from exploding munitions.6
Spitfires suddenly appearing over the coast, followed by the bomber attacks on the batteries, erased any doubts the Germans might have had that they were under attack. But the nature of the attack remained unclear. At 0430 hours, the Dieppe signal station reported to the port commander hearing “motor sounds” just off the coast. Still expecting the convoy from Boulogne, the port commander thought this was the likely source. Five minutes later, the harbour-protection boat west of Dieppe’s harbour mouth reported “unknown vessels approaching Pourville” and flashed a challenge. When the ships failed to respond, alert rockets were fired to warn coastal defence units.
Two other harbour-protection boats stood off Dieppe along with a tugboat waiting to meet the convoy. All four boats reported sighting destroyers and other vessels about one and a half nautical miles from the coast. The German vessels prudently ran for Dieppe’s inner harbour. As the tug steamed in, the pilot signalled that many landing craft were steering towards beaches on either side of the moles sheltering the harbour mouth. At 0450 hours, he signalled that two landing craft “burst into flame on the beach of Pourville.” Seconds later, smoke smothered the coast, and the pilot’s view was obscured. At 0500, the signal station signalled that “enemy forces were probably attempting to land at Pourville.” The port commandant had already ordered all naval personnel to move to assigned battle stations, and they were soon ready for action.7
As the south Saskatchewan Regiment’s twelve landing craft closed on Pourville at 0450, Captain G.B. “Buck” Buchanan saw “lights shining in some windows and smoke curling from a few chimneys. We thought how peaceful it was and how soon we would disturb this quiet seaside town by rifle and gunfire.” If not for the “grim and determined look on these prairie lads’ faces,” they might have been on just another exercise. “But this was the real thing and we all knew it.”8
Aboard an LCA, Private Victor Story saw an anti-aircraft gun on the eastern headland firing at low-flying fighters. The plane engines were loud, masking the quieter boat motors.9
Having lost 17 wounded by the earlier grenade explosion, the battalion was 506 strong, and ‘C’ Company had 93 men compared to the 110 in the other companies. Another 30 men formed a special force under Lieutenant Les England, and the first-aid contingent numbered about 20. On the right flank, Major Claude Orme’s ‘C’ Company would seize the western headland. Pourville was to be secured by Major Elmer “Lefty” White’s ‘B’ Company. Once the village was taken, White would advance men two thousand yards inland to eliminate a strongpoint west of the River Scie. The radar station and eastern headland—including two batteries, a searchlight tower, and a battery of light anti-aircraft guns—were the objectives of Captain Murray Osten’s ‘A’ Company. Flight Sergeant Jack Nissenthall, field security Sergeant Roy Hawkins, and ten ‘A’ Company minders would then carry out the special intelligence mission. ‘D’ Company, under Major Mac MacTavish, would advance alongside the eastern headland to capture Quatre Vents Farm and silence a nearby field artillery battery. England’s special force was to take out a German strongpoint carved seventy-five feet up the eastern headland’s face, which covered the intersection of two roads at its base. One of these roads ran east over the headland to Dieppe, the other up the Scie valley to the airfield and the divisional headquarters mistakenly believed to be located at Arques-la-Bataille. Eliminating this strongpoint and capturing Quatre Vents Farm would open the way for the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders to advance to the airfield and headquarters.
According to plan, ‘A’ and ‘D’ Companies, along with the special force, were to land east of the river mouth and the other two companies to its west. Lieutenant Colonel Cecil Merritt’s battalion headquart
ers would also land to the west and set up inside the village.10
The LCA carrying the special force was just yards from the beach when a light machine gun opened up to the left. More machine guns fired over the wire entanglement topping the seawall as the boat grounded. Sergeant W.A. Richardson’s No. 3 Section waited impatiently at the back of the LCA for the first two sections and Lieutenant English to clear off. Then Richardson led a dash up the beach to where the entire force pressed hard against the seawall for cover.11
Second-in-command of No. 1 Section, Sergeant R.K. Kerr, saw that the machine guns were concentrating on the landing craft. In the gloomy pre-dawn darkness, the Germans seemed not to have seen the men unload. Kerr noted his men “were lightly nervous.”12
Not everyone got ashore. The LCM carrying twenty-five headquarters men and a Bren carrier loaded with wireless equipment was five minutes later than the rest reaching the beach. When its ramp dropped, Captain N.A. Adams and ten men raced to the seawall. The Bren carrier and a cluster of bicycles prevented the other men from getting off. When the carrier driver edged forward, the vehicle stalled two feet short of the ramp. Sergeant R.A. Pollard tried to lead the men over the bicycles and carrier, but heavy machine-gun fire tore into the LCM, and several fell badly wounded. The LCM lurched clear of the beach and turned away. After attempting to land twice more, only to be met by withering fire, it withdrew and transferred the remaining Sasks aboard to the destroyer Albrighton.13
On Green Beach, Private T.J. Rands with ‘D’ Company’s headquarters section was at first astonished by the quiet landing. But “as soon as we reached the wall hell seemed to open up. I was a bit scared.”14
Most fire was still high, and the German gunners shot along predetermined fixed lines, with none of the guns able to sight along the seawall. They fired instead down the length of the promenade and adjacent road. This made the seawall a safe place, while going beyond would be deadly. There was also the need to get through the wire topping the wall, which Private Ernest Clarke noted with unease had barbs “about an inch long and... curved like a fish hook.”15
‘A’ Company’s Sergeant Basil Smith got over the seawall by slithering through an unmanned pillbox firing slit, whose back door exited onto the promenade. Private L.R. Thrussell was close behind. Both men realized they would have died on the beach if the Germans had manned that pillbox.16
Lieutenant John Edmondson, ‘D’ Company’s second-in-command, worried less about surmounting the seawall than the fact that the landing had been screwed up. All of ‘A’ and ‘D’ Companies had been landed west of the river. They now must cross it to reach objectives. Edmondson’s men were getting enmeshed with ‘B’ Company, and cohesion was dissolving. No option but get over the damned wall, organize people, and find a river crossing. The wall varied in height from eight to ten feet. Edmondson’s complaints during Isle of Wight training had eventually been heard, so there were scaling ladders. He yelled for one to be brought up. It duly appeared. “Wire cutters,” he shouted. “Someone get up there and cut the wires.” A wire cutter slapped into his hand. “Officers lead,” Edmondson thought and climbed the ladder. Machine-gun slugs pinged the wire as he cut. Three rolls of concertina wire had to be cut away.17
Edmondson noted that the machine-gun fire traced an unwavering line, a constant eighteen inches high. “Just slide over the wall,” he told the men below, “and then dash for the cover of the buildings.” Edmondson slithered through the wire and ran to the buildings. In the semi-darkness, the situation in the village proved confused. Canadians, civilians, and Germans ran every which way. Frenchmen screamed at soldiers not to shoot, while the Canadians and Germans sought to engage each other. Coming face-to-face with a German, Edmondson squeezed his Sten’s trigger and heard the dull thud of a misfire. Stunned, the German failed to raise his gun. Edmondson dodged behind a corner and tried again to fire. The Sten thudded uselessly. He chucked it away, picked up a dropped Lee-Enfield. After firing it to make sure the gun worked, Edmondson turned the corner to face the German. He was gone. The main street, which ran east to west through the village and included a bridge that crossed the river, was raked by machine-gun fire.18
Everywhere, soldiers were crossing the seawall and getting on with assigned missions. Passage was easier to the west. Lieutenant Leonard Kempton’s No. 14 Platoon of ‘C’ Company crossed without incident and headed for a suspected motor transport works eight hundred yards inland, on the slope ascending the western headland. Kempton’s men jogged through the village and into the countryside. Dawn light now illuminated the beach, but here a gloom was cast by the headland and the woods lining the road. Kempton feared that the darkness concealed Germans lying in ambush. Signalling his men to stay with Sergeant M. Lehman, Kempton ghosted forward alone to check the trees bordering the road ahead. Seeing the large building near and no Germans about, he returned and gathered the men for an advance. As they closed in, Kempton led one section in a charge that quickly secured the empty building. He then took several men to search a scatter of farm buildings on either side of the road. Sergeant Lehman was so impressed by Kempton’s “wonderful leadership,” he believed every man in the platoon would “follow him wherever he went.”19
Although the Saskatchewan Regiment’s officers prided themselves on leading from the front, Major Claude Orme was the most insistent on this point. Such leadership, he believed, steadied the men and ensured they did as Lehman thought No. 14 Platoon would. The rest of ‘C’ Company had been close behind Kempton’s platoon with Orme’s headquarters section, heading for a large hotel that faced the promenade at the village’s western end. Sergeant H.E. Long led No. 13 Platoon around the hotel’s left side and broke in the back door. A machine-gun crew firing on the beach from inside the building was quickly killed.
The hotel proved to be quarters for a large group of foreigners, many of them Belgians forced to work as slave labourers on the coastal defences. After calming these civilians down, ‘C’ Company advanced up the slope of the western headland, with Long’s platoon leading. As Long crested the summit, a shot rang out and he fell wounded. The platoon sergeant froze uncertainly, and Corporal Guy Berthelot realized, “If we don’t do something very soon we will all be dead.” The platoon was “in a pretty compact bunch”; a single mortar round could kill them. Berthelot shouted to Private William Haggard: “We should advance. One section on the right and two sections on the left.” Haggard nodded agreement. The two men quickly explained the idea to the platoon sergeant, who agreed to it, evidently relieved at their having assumed the responsibility for making decisions.
Haggard led the two leftward platoons while Corporal Scotty Mathieson guided the right-hand section in a loose hook towards the summit. Berthelot set up his Bren gun at the corner of a house to provide covering fire. On the other side of the crest, the road was bordered by low banks, with Germans manning gun pits on one side. Shots were traded without noticeable effect. When Berthelot came running up, he was stunned to see the formerly hesitant platoon sergeant standing in the centre of the road, “hollering at the boys to advance and charge the Germans in the pits. No one wanted to start out, so I took my Bren and shooting from the hip... advanced into the pit area, firing almost directly straight down in the pits as I went along. Soon after I started advancing... up comes Corporal Mathieson from the opposite side, firing his Tommy gun from the hip. A few of the boys then dashed in from both sides and threw hand grenades into the pits. In about 15 minutes, from the time I walked out with my Bren, we had about twenty dead Germans and 30 prisoners on our hands. Two men escorted the prisoners to [the main-street garage set up as battalion headquarters].”20
Lieutenant Ross MacIlveen’s No. 15 Platoon, meanwhile, advanced to the transport building taken by No. 14 Platoon. MacIlveen’s objective was a strongpoint on the cliff edge overlooking the beach. Rather than going straight at it, he had decided to hook through No. 14 Platoon and close from above and behind. Sweepin
g into the position, his men found it abandoned and in “a disused condition.” ‘C’ Company held all its objectives and controlled the western headland. MacIlveen sent a signal back to Orme—now headquartered alongside No. 14 Platoon—reporting this. Down the slope facing Pourville stood a large white mansion that he then decided to clear. No. 15 Platoon met several Germans there, killing all but two, who surrendered. Had the Germans been organized, they could have offered a stiff fight. The building contained two medium machine guns and a 2-inch mortar with ten bombs. After firing off the ammunition and destroying the machine guns, MacIlveen saw that No. 13 Platoon was under fire from four snipers in nearby woods. He had a man “engage the enemy with the captured mortar. Their fire ceased and we destroyed the mortar.” The two platoons then formed an all-round defensive position on top of the headland.21
About thirty minutes after the Sasks landed, Orme reported ‘C’ Company’s success to battalion headquarters. Pourville had also fallen to ‘B’ Company. Wallace Reyburn, a Montreal Standard correspondent, left the headquarters to follow men clearing houses. At each house, Bren gunners and men with Stens covered it “for their companions to go in. They went forward and battered the door down with their rifle butts, kicked through windows at the side, and climbed in. It was the same stuff I’d seen them do times without number at deserted houses near their training camps in England. Now here they were doing it with a precision and thoroughness that looked as though they’d been clearing enemy houses ever since the war began.”