by Mark Zuehlke
While exiting an LCA, Private Albert O’Toole had lost his footing and wrenched an ankle. Pulled back aboard the hurriedly departing LCA, O’Toole would be the only Black Watch soldier landed who returned from the raid. All the rest were taken prisoner.50
As the disaster of Blue Beach began drawing inevitably to its close, some Royals still refused to give up. Lieutenant Colonel Doug Catto and a party of men primarily from ‘D’ Company ended up in “a sort of re-entrant on the western side of [the] seawall’s end spur.” Around the corner was a remnant of ‘C’ Company. Gathering these men together at 0600 hours, Catto discovered that nobody had any bangalore torpedoes to blow holes through the wire on the seawall. So Sergeant Edward Coles and two other men started cutting while Lieutenant Bob Stewart stood up to cover them with a Bren gun. The officer was promptly shot and fell badly wounded. Ten minutes later, however, the hole was opened. Captain Browne signalled Garth: “Doug still on beach. Casualties heavy. MG and mortar fire. 0610.” But Catto was passing through the hole, shouting for the men to follow him.
Browne, meanwhile, gave his signaller a second message to send and told him to follow the party once it was gone.51 Although Browne was sure it was futile, the message eventually relayed from Garth to Calpe read: “From Blue Beach. Is there possible chance of getting us off?”52 Browne and Catto both thought it impossible for LCAs to successfully pass through the German fire to save men from the beach. Their only chance was to fight overland to Dieppe, which was what they would now try.
As Catto and his small party of twenty-one men ascended the cliff, those Royals left behind were pasted by mortars and stick grenades thrown down from its top. German artillery burst “precisely at the water-line at impeccably correct intervals and timing.” Browne’s prediction was confirmed when two LCAs trying to land were “sunk by hits or splinters from this fire. From a gunner’s point of view, it was admirable shooting.” Browne “sprinted up the cliff after the colonel.” He was the last man through the wire. German machine guns zeroed the hole, preventing its further use. The time was 0700 hours.53
On the beach, it was a time of decision—escape by swimming, surrender, or fight to the death? Corporal Leslie Ellis “looked about... and saw no movement on the beach, on which many dead men were lying.” He calmly stripped off boots and equipment before walking into the sea. When he started crawl stroking, a sniper smacked a bullet in front of his nose. Ellis floated, played dead for a few minutes, and was not fired on after that. Dragged down by clothes and his seemingly damaged Mae West, Ellis wriggled free of them. He swam for two hours and was nearing exhaustion when a corpse bumped him. Ellis liberated it of a lifebelt and then took the lifebelt and jacket from a second body. Each of the men had been killed by a single bullet to the head—testimony to the accuracy of the German snipers. When Ellis tried just floating, he started losing consciousness. If he didn’t keep swimming, he realized, he would die. Finally, he happened upon a rowboat, possibly the one abandoned by Legate’s group. Climbing aboard, Ellis passed out and later awoke to find he was on an LCF, whose anti-aircraft guns were firing relentlessly. Ellis discovered that his watch had stopped the moment it was exposed to seawater—the time locked at 0630 hours. With a kind of dazed wonder, Ellis realized that during all the slaughter on Blue Beach, he had seen only a single German—the flashing white of the machine gunner’s face.54
Despite the constant fire directed at it, a few men still clung to the keel of the overturned LCA. Private Ed Simpson was one. He saw no signs of life on the beach. “Slowly we were being picked off by snipers on the cliff. How long I hung on, I do not know.” He was losing all hope when two LCAs from the Duke of Wellington braved the fire to reach the overturned vessel. Canadians under command of Sub-Lieutenant John Boak crewed one LCA; the other had a Royal Navy captain, Sub-Lieutenant Ben Franklin, but a mostly Canadian crew. Both boats “came under a perfect hurricane of fire from artillery, mortars and machineguns,” but Boak’s LCA reached the overturned craft. His crew “shouted to the soldiers to jump” and grab a rope strung over the side.55
Simpson and fellow privates Thomas Miller Armstrong, L.W. Roberts, and J.N. Wallace grasped the line. “As soon as we grabbed the rope the boat swung out to sea at top speed. A mile or so from where we were picked up, Armstrong let go.” Presumed drowned, he was never found. When the LCA stopped, Simpson “clambered aboard unassisted and helped the seaman to bring Roberts and Wallace on deck.”56
The other boat lifted the rest of the men from the overturned craft, but two of its naval crew died in this “act of gallantry.”57 One was Ordinary Seaman Joseph Alphonsus McKenna, a nineteen-year-old from Prince Edward Island. Perched on the gunwale, McKenna had fired at the cliffs with a Lewis gun until he was shot in the chest. “I am afraid I am hit, Sir,” he cried, “spun round and fell dead.”58 Franklin was also wounded. Although several other landing craft attempted to reach Blue Beach, they were driven back by drenching fire. It was no longer possible for men to swim away without being shot and killed.
Inland, Catto’s party comprised four Royal officers and eleven other ranks, an officer and three 3rd Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment men, and FOO Browne. As they moved up the slope towards the headland, Browne realized he no longer heard any fire from the east side of the beach, and from the centre and western flanks there were only “intermittent bursts of German automatic fire and the steady detonation of their mortar bombs.” When a light machine gun on a hill to their left opened up, they realized any return to the beach was impossible. Gaining the top of the headland, Catto advanced a small patrol under Lieutenant Sterling Ryerson, whose grandfather had founded the Canadian Red Cross Society. Within minutes, Ryerson returned with word that a strong German patrol was approaching from the fortified house at the east side of the beach.
The party hurried westward towards Dieppe via a walled road overarched by tree branches, but soon left it for the security of a small wood. Emerging from the wood, they found a road bordered by walls that on the map connected Puys to Dieppe. An anti-aircraft battery was visible across about a hundred yards of open ground to the south. Two to three hundred yards northward, several light machine guns on the edge of the cliff fired at RAF fighters. Ryerson, on trail, reported that the patrol of about two full platoons was closing fast. It was about 1000 hours. A scout sent forward to explore a path leading into a second wood bumped into a machine-gun position and was killed. Catto and the others took refuge in the wood. Unable to proceed farther and eventually hearing all signs of fighting fade away, they surrendered to a Luftwaffe officer at 1620 hours.59
On Blue Beach, the surrender had come much earlier—shortly before 0830—and little more than three hours after the first landing. At 0835, a report from 571st German Infantry Regiment to 302nd Division stated tersely: “Puys firmly in our hands; enemy lost about 500 men prisoners or dead.” Very few Royals had escaped—just two officers, Captains Jack Anderson and Jack Catto, and sixty-five men. Most of these had been on the second-wave LCM that had pulled out with mostly wounded men aboard. Both officers had been wounded, as had thirty-one other ranks. Two of these died later. Including 18 men who died in captivity, 227 of the 554 men embarked perished. Of the 26 3rd Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment men, 9 were killed. Only 7 returned to England, most of them having never landed. The Black Watch had only Lieutenant Jack Colson killed. “The episode at Puys,” the army’s official historian wrote, “was the grimmest of the whole grim operation, and the Royal Regiment had more men killed than any other unit engaged. Along the fatal seawall the lads from Toronto lay in heaps.”60
The disaster had stark ramifications for the raid as a whole. With the headland between Puys and Dieppe not taken, its guns ranged on the frontal landings at Dieppe. For as the Royals had lunged onto Blue Beach, the leading assault waves of the main force had almost simultaneously touched down on Red and White Beaches.
18. Murderous Crossfire
It is vital to the su
ccess of the operation as a whole that White and Red Beaches be in our hands with minimal delay,” Operation Jubilee’s military plan had asserted. The beach facing Dieppe was about a mile long. White Beach stretched a half mile from the western headland, with Red Beach then extending east to the harbour mouth. The Royal Hamilton Light Infantry was to capture White Beach, the Essex Scottish Red Beach. A first flight of nine Calgary Regiment tanks would land alongside the infantry assault wave. Detachments of signallers, engineer assault teams, and ordnance and provost personnel tasked with assisting the engineers were also included. The engineers were carrying ashore large amounts of equipment and explosives to “clear the necessary beach roadways and remove obstacles to enable the tanks to enter the town.”1 Touchdown was slated for 0520 hours, immediately following an “intense direct bombardment by four destroyers and Locust.” Between 0515 and 0525, five cannon-firing Hurricane squadrons would repeatedly strafe the beachfront.2
As the landing craft headed shoreward, Lieutenant Colonel Bob Labatt realized his earlier misgivings about the operation had “completely disappeared. We were launched upon a daring expedition— undoubtedly the most hazardous operation ever undertaken by Canadian troops,” the Riley commander wrote. “I was elated to think that we had been amongst those chosen to carry it out. I was pleased to realize that I was not scared.” The men around him in the LCA sat with “gas capes slipped on back to front as a protection against the spray. There was no false bravado. They talked in low voices, checking over their various tasks in the coming operation.”
As the sky lightened, Labatt discerned “vegetation and buildings showing black on top of white cliffs. Soon we were able to pick out landmarks made familiar by previous study of the model. We were headed dead for our beach, the piece of black horizon between the West Cliff and the Eastern Heights. We kept steadily on. The light became better and soon the buildings of the town showed up.” Labatt’s LCA made directly for the casino, with the other landing craft formed alongside in line. “The sea presented an inspiring picture. Hundreds of small craft heading for the land with fast support boats zigzagging well ahead—and astern the large tank carriers pushing up milk white cushions under their square bows. Everything was deathly quiet on the beach... Suddenly there was a roar overhead and a flight of hurricanes swept low over the water and attacked the buildings immediately ahead with M.G. and cannon fire. Flashes of flame ran up and down the esplanade as the bursts exploded... It was all over quickly, too quickly. The men who had been standing up to watch... were disappointed. ‘Is that all?’ they asked.” The landing craft were about five hundred yards from shore and had not yet been fired on.3
As the beach became visible, Captain Denis Whitaker realized things were “terribly wrong. Everything was intact! We expected a town shattered by the RAF’s saturation bombing the previous night. We thought we would see a lot of damage to the seafront buildings from the shelling. There was no sign of bombing. The window panes were glittering, unbroken, in the reflections of the sun’s first rays.”4
Fellow Riley Lieutenant Lou Counsell and his No. 16 Platoon of ‘D’ Company “were all a little disappointed by the smallness of the air support... the fighter attack seemed to be over in a moment.” Bafflingly, only senior regimental officers knew there would be no saturation bombing of Dieppe and had not passed this information down to junior officers. On seeing “no evidence of bomb damage as they landed,” Counsell said later, “you felt let down.”5
Signaller Private Alf Collingdon was in Counsell’s LCA. Pointing out the castle on the headland, he asked, “Sir, are you going to be king of the castle when we take it?”
“You can bet on it,” Counsell replied. “But we’re going to have to get there first!”6
Observing from Calpe, Captain John Hughes-Hallett thought the air support and fire from destroyers “appeared to be as effective as could be expected.”7 Albrighton, Bleasdale, Berkeley, and Garth had begun shooting at 0515 hours. American brigadier Lucien Truscott, on Fernie as an observer, was surprised by “the relative ineffectiveness of the 4-inch destroyer guns.” A naval officer nearby said they had known “such support was inadequate, but that it was the only solution possible since cruisers could not be risked in such restricted waters.”8
Fifty-eight Hurricanes mounting four 20-millimetre cannons each carried out the strafing attack. The first thirty-four-strong wave targeted light-gun positions, and the pilots reported shells striking “gun-posts, buildings and wireless masts.” Both headlands were wreathed in thick smoke clouds as the destroyers fired smoke shells and smoke-laying aircraft swept in. More smoke roiled along the beach. While the smoke provided protective cover for the Hurricanes, it also prevented the pilots from targeting specific machine-gun or artillery positions. So they just wildly strafed the beach and buildings behind. Anti-aircraft fire was immediate and intense, hitting seven Hurricanes. Flight Sergeant Stirling David Banks, a nineteen-year-old RCAF pilot from Prince Edward Island serving in RAF’s No. 3 Squadron, was struck by heavy flak. Last seen “trying desperately to ditch on the sea,” he died in the crash. After two strafing runs, the leading squadrons broke for home. The two following squadrons attacked anti-aircraft batteries on the western headland, but due to smoke and poor light were unable to gauge the damage caused. Five Hurricanes failed to return from the attack.9
None of the supporting fire hindered the waiting Germans. From an observation post alongside the western headland’s castle, Dieppe’s naval port commandant saw the artillery and machine-gun positions cease firing blindly the moment the fighters departed. They now switched to observed fire “on the transports,” which had now “become visible.”10
“Suddenly all hell broke loose.” No. 2 Provost Company’s Corporal Bob Prouse aboard LCT5 saw “mortar shells... exploding all around us... As we drew closer the Navy gunner... handling the Bofors gun suddenly disappeared in a puff of smoke.”11 Essex Scottish private Stanley Carley’s hell started “two hundred yards from the beach [with] a terrific amount of machine-gun fire and artillery... being sent at us.”12
“They greeted us not only with M.G. fire, but also mortars and anti-tank and infantry guns from concrete emplacements along the seawall. The surface of the water was hidden by spray,” Lieutenant Colonel Labatt wrote. “The towers of the casino loomed above us. We could see them firing from the upper windows and gun emplacements on the ground floor level. I shouted to [Captain Denis Whitaker] to get busy with the Bren and everyone else to prepare to move. Gas capes were thrown under foot and the Mae Wests deflated. Whitaker had time to get off two mags from the Bren before we touched down.”13
“Where was that weak demoralized enemy with puny weapons that we had been told was defending the town?” Whitaker wondered. “Dieppe was a fortress, and the Germans were obviously ready and waiting.”14
Lieutenant Fred Woodcock, commanding No. 17 Platoon of ‘D’ Company, was in the LCA landing closest to the western headland and under intense fire from positions around the castle and casino. He thought it “unbelievable that anyone survived.” Woodcock yelled at Private W.A. Korenblum, “Take the Bren.” Korenblum “fired a clip at the flashes on the cliff... Then we were hit. The Bangalore torpedoes exploded among the toggle ropes and grappling irons. I only remember the sound, because I was blinded. The boat filled with water and I was soon up to my neck. I couldn’t hear at all after that for a long while, but later there were faraway noises as if I were listening to something over a very poor connection on a long distance phone call. It seemed that my limbs wouldn’t move. I wanted to brush the blood from my eyes, and I couldn’t. Then, a long time later, I would feel something touching my face and I realized that it was my hand.” Only Woodcock, blinded for life, and Korenblum survived. The rest of No. 17 Platoon died before landing.15
The first landing craft reached White Beach at 0520 hours and Red Beach three minutes later. Lieutenant Commander Colin McMullen, responsible for navigation, rep
orted none of the LCAs or LCMs sunk on the approach.16
“The keel grated, the ramp swung down,” and the Rileys “surged out” behind Labatt. “Drinks—Newhaven—tonight,” the LCA captain shouted, as Labatt passed. “There was a momentary lull in the firing as we touched down, then it opened up again with terrific intensity.”17
Thirty-five Rileys and eight 7th Field Company engineers piled out of one LCM. Despite the rain of fire, engineer Sergeant George Hickson calmly assessed the casino’s defences. The Germans had recently begun demolishing the three-storey white building to create a large strongpoint amid its ruins. But so far, only the southwest corner had been torn down. The strongpoint’s defences were, however, well advanced.18
A 40-millimetre rapid-fire gun was concealed by a heavy pillbox directly in front of the casino, and a heavy gun in a solidly constructed emplacement anchored the northwest corner. Two machine guns fired from either flank of the casino. The northeast corner was guarded by a large sandbagged emplacement. East of the casino, just back of the promenade, was a very large, low building. Aerial photographs had failed to reveal its purpose, but Hickson saw now that it housed at least one anti-tank gun and numerous machine guns. All around Hickson, men were falling or already lay dead on the rocks. Fire seemed to be coming from every which way. Hickson ran for two dense wire obstacles fronting the casino, which was where his “Hicks Party” of engineers and thirty-five Rileys were to rendezvous. They would then push into the town to destroy the post office’s telephone exchange, blast its safe and loot any documents found, and then rig a torpedo dump under the eastern headland for demolition. Hickson already knew this tidy scheme was doomed.19
“The instant we jumped from our boats... we were... swept with a murderous crossfire, which took a heavy toll of our ranks,” ‘C’ Company’s Private J. Johnston reported. “We raced to the first wire entanglements and threw ourselves flat. We crawled under the wire and made a dash for a low brick wall which was three bricks high. We then returned the fire which was still intense.”20