Tragedy at Dieppe

by Mark Zuehlke

  Stapleton, meanwhile, watched from the third storey of an old house as a small tug approached a nearby dock. When the tug came into range, his men opened fire and drove the crew to cover. Realizing they lacked the firepower to sink the sturdy vessel, Stapleton withdrew into the maze of streets comprising Dieppe’s old quarter. A French civilian pointed out a window. Peeking around a corner, Stapleton saw German infantry exiting a building and boarding a truck. Once the truck was loaded and driving off, Stapleton shouted for his men to form a line and open fire. Two Brens, one Thompson, and three or four rifles spoke as one. The truck stalled, its lights came on, and one of his men shouted, “Bingo!” Before the Germans could react, the Canadians withdrew.

  Two young French women soon appeared and tried to lead off two of Stapleton’s men. Suspecting a trap, Stapleton sternly shooed the women away and then led the men down a narrow alley that dead-ended. Suddenly, a sniper opened up, his men scattered, and Stapleton was alone in a building and pinned down. To draw the sniper’s fire, Stapleton stuck his head out a window. When the sniper fired, Stapleton charged. As he closed in, one of his men appeared and killed the sniper with a grenade.

  Deciding their luck was turning sour, Stapleton led the men back to the hotels. As they sprinted to the seawall, a couple of Calgary tanks mistook them for Germans and opened fire. But all the men made the crossing safely. Finally locating Jasperson, Stapleton reported his adventure.34 Having been informed that a party of Essex Scottish had gone into Dieppe, Jasperson had just moments before used the battalion’s single remaining wireless set to contact Lieutenant Bob Labatt. “Twelve of our men in the buildings. Have not heard from them in some time,” he said. Stapleton’s party had been inside Dieppe for about thirty minutes. Although several other Essex Scottish parties were reported to have gone beyond the seawall, the army’s official historian disproved these accounts. Stapleton was awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal.35

  In fact, the Essex Scottish were, as early as 0630 hours, “unable to continue organized fighting” because “they had suffered at least 75% casualties,” Captain Donald MacRae realized. “A large number of officers [had been] either killed or very severely wounded.” Yet MacRae noted that “the troops were marvellously cool and there was not the slightest evidence of fear. The men [were] fighting all the time and words are inadequate to pay proper tribute to the excellence of all these officers and men. Unless they were so badly wounded that they could not carry on, all ranks fought stubbornly in spite of their wounds.36

  Jasperson remained unhurt. “Mortar and shell splinters were whistling all around me, some as close as 8 feet but none got me. The most I suffered was periodic showers of stone... on my tin hat and body which did me no harm.”37

  Except for some Rileys and engineers inside the casino and a couple of nearby buildings, the Canadians were pinned behind the seawall. Several tanks prowled the promenade. Others strewn along the beach with damaged tracks still fired at the seaside buildings. Several Churchills burned; others had been abandoned.

  Inside the casino, Captain Tony Hill collected about fourteen men and led them out a back exit into the street beyond. Company Sergeant Major Jack Stewart provided covering fire with a Bren gun as the rest sprinted across the street—one man falling wounded—and gained the buildings. After Stewart joined them, the men tried to pass a concrete roadblock plugging the street east of Rue de Sygogne. Thick wire tangles alongside the roadblock made it impossible to get through. Instead they broke a window and crawled into a building that proved to be a cinema.

  Hill—“a bold and aggressive leader,” in Stewart’s estimation—was “determined to push on into the town.” Exiting the cinema, they advanced east through a square centred on St. Rémy Church. Meeting a German patrol, the Rileys fell back as Stewart kept the enemy at bay with his Bren gun. Near the church square, they spotted a group of Germans milling around an apparent headquarters. Stewart loosed a burst and two Germans fell dead. The Germans lashed back. Corporal Samuel Howard Harris, carrying a broken wireless set, was killed by a sniper. Other Germans rushed forward with heavy machine guns. Hill led the men fleeing across the square and into the cinema. Firing out windows, they drove the Germans into cover. Bolstered by the arrival of Major Harold Lazier and a small group of men, the Rileys engaged the Germans in a desultory gun battle.38

  By this time, Lieutenant Colonel Labatt fully appreciated that the Rileys were in a “pretty desperate state... On the right the enemy held the west cliff, the castle and the buildings on the town level. From these positions every inch of the beach was covered by observation and fire. In the centre, he held emplacements in the esplanade and all the buildings covering it. On the left he had the east hill from which he covered the esplanade and the eastern end of the beach and from behind the mole his automatic weapons were raking the beach from one end to the other.”

  Labatt’s most rightward company had “been practically annihilated before reaching the wire and its survivors were pinned to the little hollows in the beaches. In the centre we had got through the wire, captured the casino and small parties were in the town. This operation had been costly and had used up the centre and most of the reserve companies. The left company had got through to the esplanade, there to be practically wiped out. Its survivors had moved to the right, joining up with the units around the casino... The beach was a death trap.”

  Suddenly, a signaller handed Labatt a message from Brigadier Sherwood Lett. “What is the situation? Where are you?” Still deaf, Labatt could not talk directly into the wireless. “Brigadier Lett is going to land,” the signaller told him. Labatt hurriedly dictated a message that the situation was hopeless and “on no account” should Lett land.39

  Labatt’s warning went unheeded. At 0605 hours, right on schedule, the next flight of four LCTs approached. Brigadier Lett was aboard LCT8, Brigadier Bill Southam LCT7. As Southam climbed a ladder to the bridge, “there was a flash which seemed to be almost in my face... I was tumbled off the ladder, and landed on a man below me... I saw that the centre tank was afire, and a soldier with fire blackened face was attempting to put it out.”40

  The soldier was Lieutenant Ed Bennett, commanding ‘B’ Squadron’s No. 10 Troop. He had been standing on the turret of Bellicose, attempting to figure out in which direction the squadron should go. The smokescreens obscured his view. All he could see were buildings rising up out of the smoke, but Bennett “knew there was lots of action on the beach” because he “could hear all the firing.” Suddenly, a shell from the gun emplacement on the mole punched through the LCT’s left side, hit the barrage balloon storage area, and exploded the hydrogen cylinders. Bennett was caught “in the middle of the blast. My face was burnt—all my hair was gone.” A sliver of metal lodged in his right eye.41 “But we were coming into action and I picked myself up and we went into shore.” Bennett’s loader/operator, Trooper Archie Anderson, clambered out with a fire extinguisher and doused the flames—one of a series of brave actions eventually recognized with a Military Medal.42 As the two men climbed back inside, Bennett, whose left eye was unhurt, saw that some of the brigade’s wireless equipment had been destroyed by the blast. The explosion had also jammed Bellicose’s turret.

  As Bellicose exited on the heels of Beefy, Bennett saw tanks stranded on the beach. Realizing the tanks had broken their tracks on the rocks, Bennett ordered his driver to hug the tide line. The last tank out was Bloody, towing a scout car with the Calgary Regiment’s signals officer, Major Gordon Rolfe, and two No. 19 wireless sets aboard. Rolfe was to use the signals equipment in three scout cars to establish the regiment’s communications link to both brigade headquarters and 2nd Division’s headquarters on Calpe. Sergeant Ron B. Lee, commanding Bloody, first headed for the seawall before turning to follow Bennett. As he reversed, Lee’s tank crushed Rolfe’s scout car. Releasing the scout car, Bloody trundled off along the beach. Partly squashed, pressed deep into the chert, the scout car appea
red destroyed. But Rolfe was unhurt and had one operational No. 19 set inside. Shortly, Corporal A.G. Wills arrived to report the other two scout cars and their wireless sets destroyed by shellfire.43

  The “scene on the beach was one of utter confusion,” Southam realized. “Men both living and dead were lying about.” He checked his gear. Everything was in order, including the army attaché case that contained a copy of the Jubilee military plan. Spotting his signallers dragging the brigade’s No. 19 set on a dolly, he ran over to help as a Churchill bore down upon them. “We waved at it, and attempted vainly to move the 19 set from its path; some fast jumping saved us from being bumped but the 19 set was not so fortunate.” The brigade major had another No. 19 set, but a sergeant reported all other officers in the headquarters had been wounded and remained aboard LCT7. So too had the wireless set. Realizing his brigade headquarters now consisted of one officer—himself—and a few other ranks, Southam ran to Rolfe’s scout car and the last remaining wireless.44 Rolfe assured Southam he could “handle all frequencies needed, including tanks.” He and Wills were “able to keep the Brigadier in communication forward to his battalions and back to [Calpe], and by switching frequency Rolfe was able to keep in touch with the tank C.O. and Squadron Commanders and give situation reports to Force Headquarters. This task... was not an easy one... requiring rapid and accurate changes of frequency on the operator’s part.”45 Southam tried unsuccessfully to raise his South Saskatchewan Rifles and Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders at Pourville and soon realized—wireless links aside—that he was effectively marooned.46

  Bennett’s No. 10 Troop, meanwhile, had ground down the length of the beach to gain the promenade near the casino. “The Germans who were pinning down the infantry on the beach were entrenched in front of the buildings... We made a dash for them and to our surprise they poured out from everywhere running like hell for the buildings. Both gunners opened up and we got plenty of them. Even had the pleasure of running down one who tried to dodge us. We passed their trench defences and came back for more. By this time we were starting to receive something in return. We moved east again and tried to get into the town back of the casino. All the side streets were very narrow and... blocked with solid concrete about five feet high. We were finally hit properly and our steering was buggered. I think it was the idler wheel. We backed up to where the trench was and when I tried to fire through the pistol port at a stray German running for cover I realized that I was unable to see clearly any longer. The burns had closed up the left eye.”47

  LCT8 had not only Brigadier Sherwood Lett’s 4th Brigade headquarters aboard but also the Calgary Regiment’s three-tank-strong headquarters. The regiment’s adjutant, Captain Austin Stanton, commanded the lead tank, Ringer. Lieutenant Colonel Johnny Andrews was in the second tank, Regiment. Major John Begg, the regiment’s second-in-command, was in Rounder. Ringer immediately mired in the chert in front of the ramp.48 A dozen engineers from 7th Field Company under command of Captain John Eric Bright dashed off the LCT with chespaling rolls but were unable to free the tank. Most of Bright’s men were killed or wounded, and he suffered two wounds before the LCT captain ordered the engineers back aboard.49 As LCT8 backed out to sea under intense fire, Andrews signalled Major Allan Glenn of ‘C’ Squadron to temporarily take command ashore.50

  Once the LCT left, Ringer backed up and freed itself. The tank started following the beach in the lowest gear, “because of all those damnable round stones that no one mentioned before,” Trooper Tom H. Pinder recalled. After only a short distance a track broke, and the tank was stranded.51

  Every tanker cursed the chert. ‘B’ Squadron’s No. 7 Troop landed easily from LCT9. Brenda, Betty, and Blondie picked their way warily to the promenade across a “beach with stones the size of baseballs.”52 Like the other tanks there, they found no passage into the town, so they cruised the promenade and Boulevard de Verdun.

  Because the engineers ashore had not managed to off-load many explosives, they were unable to demolish the roadblocks. A mixed party, commanded by 7th Field Company’s Lieutenant William Alexander Ewener, tackled the roadblock barring Rue de Sygogne—which intersected the western end of Boulevard de Verdun. Gathering up explosives found on the beach, the men made for the casino. Burdened by the weight of their loads, few survived the heavy fire. Ewener, severely wounded in the chest, staggered into the casino carrying fifty pounds of explosives. He collapsed, unable to go farther. The 11th Field Company’s Corporal Milton Douglas Sinasac took over, leading six men towards the roadblock. Four men died gaining the roadblock, and the charges set failed to breach the obstruction. Sinasac ran back to the casino through murderous machine-gun fire. Finding two more heavy charges, Sinasac and another engineer returned to the roadblock. Although wounded, Sinasac was able to place and detonate the explosives, only to barely scratch the roadblock’s surface. During the withdrawal, Sinasac was again wounded. Explosives exhausted, the engineers were forced to give up. For their efforts Ewener received a Military Cross and Sinasac a Distinguished Conduct Medal.53

  LCT10, carrying ‘C’ Squadron’s No. 15 Troop, touched down at 0610 hours. Lieutenant Pat Patterson was leading in Caustic. As the ramp dropped, a flurry of artillery fire struck. Water, shrapnel, and whirling rocks showered down. Patterson directed Caustic towards a ramp leading up onto the promenade. Canny and Confident followed. Trooper Lee Patterson, driving Confident, remembered getting across the beach by “turning a bit, backing up, then going ahead again, then turning a bit and so on.” All three tanks gained the promenade, but Confident was immediately struck by concentrated shellfire, and Patterson plunged it back onto the beach. Unable to escape the German fire, Confident played at jack-in-the-box by darting quickly up the ramp, firing several shots, and then backing fast down to the beach. Caustic and Canny, meanwhile, joined the other tanks promenading back and forth along the esplanade.54

  Behind the tanks on LCT10 were sixty-two engineers under senior engineer Lieutenant Colonel Frank Barnes. As Confident had left, it had severely damaged the ramp, disabling the LCT. The engineers were trapped aboard as LCT9 took the boat under tow and dragged it seaward. It was 0630 hours and, aboard Calpe, time for dire decisions.

  20. Situation Very Grim

  Two miles at sea off Dieppe, Captain John Hughes-Hallett was certain “things were going badly, partly through the sight of so many damaged landing craft limping back through the smoke and making for the ‘boat pool’ which had been established four miles out to sea, and partly because the reports being received by Major General Roberts in his improvised Operations Room below the bridge were chaotic and uninformative.”1

  The communication problems were not due to Calpe lacking resources. Roberts had “major command links to his brigadiers, there were ‘listening sets’ tuned on other nets (such as brigade command nets) and each operator was expected to write down everything, no matter how trivial, that came over his particular network,” the Canadian Corps of Signals official historian wrote. “Complete as were these facilities, they were useful only in exact proportion to the number of forward sets that were able to remain on the air. The Senior Signals NCO aboard reported later that the entire communications pattern was satisfactory until the battalions made actual contact [with the enemy], ‘at which time you could almost hear their sets going off the air.’”2

  Aboard Calpe and Fernie, other problems also plagued communications. Lieutenant Colonel J.D. Macbeth, 2nd Division’s chief signals officer, noted that one intercept receiver on Fernie was manned by clerks who “turned in very few records of traffic on this wave and merely listened.” A second monitoring wireless tuned to a different wavelength was “operated by a Signals Officer, who fed Brigadier [Church] Mann extracts from all conversations.” Macbeth decided all receivers should henceforth “be manned jointly by Signals (who can note breakdowns on the intercepted wireless group) and clerks who can write down ALL intercept traffic which can be sorted out by [Mann] as pert
inent or otherwise.”3

  Brigadier Lucien Truscott thought the handling of communications on Fernie unprofessional. “Radio was the only means of communications... between military elements afloat and ashore. Practically all communication from the division downward was by voice radio and the greater part that I observed was in the clear. Considerable confusion resulted from ‘bogus messages’ of which a number were received... It would seem dangerous in the extreme to use voice radio as freely... without greater use of code and identification than was observed.

  “Throughout the operation... Brigadier Mann and his principal assistant actually received and transmitted most of the messages that passed through the headquarters.” Truscott thought “that trained signal operators might be more efficient from a technical point of view, as well as from a security point of view. Also, the use of trained operators would free staff officers for consideration of other matters.”4

  Of course, no amount of reorganizing of communications aboard Calpe or Fernie could compensate for the fact that as soon as a unit landed, it started losing wireless sets and signallers at an alarming pace. Under almost constant fire, signallers and officers resorted to sending truncated and—due to the literal fog of war—often confused or inaccurate signals. Consequently, Roberts and Hughes-Hallett had no real idea what was happening on the beaches. At 0450, for example, the only concrete information Roberts received was a South Saskatchewan Regiment signal: “Cecil landed.” There was no news from Yellow, Orange, or Blue Beaches.5

  Adding to the confusion was the fact that few of the wireless sets that survived ashore were directly netted to either command ship. Instead, wireless sets like that of artillery officer Captain George Browne on Blue Beach were netted to destroyers for fire-support direction. Although from 0541 to 0747 hours Browne remained in steady communication with Garth, whose captain duly ordered the signals forwarded to Calpe, none of them were received—leaving Roberts completely in the dark about events on Blue Beach.6