Tragedy at Dieppe

by Mark Zuehlke

  LCT8 drifted out of control. Its ramp could not be raised, and gunfire ripped the length of the exposed deck. Both guns had been silenced. Lett was trying to contact Calpe by wireless. Hearing that the engine room had been abandoned, Garneau ran below. Managing to restart the engine, he backed the craft away from the beach. Back topside, Garneau found Lett on a stretcher, “seriously wounded,” with the medical officer tending him. Lett asked “what was happening, why we were leaving.” Garneau explained that the LCT could not be properly beached. There was no hope of successfully landing the heavy wireless sets. Lett signalled Labatt that he was in charge of the brigade.37

  Labatt had tried to warn Lett against landing, but “apparently he proceeded to do so,” Labatt wrote. “Things were certainly hotting up.” Managing to get through to Lieutenant Colonel Fred Jasperson, Labatt learned that the Essex Scottish “were pinned down on the beach and could not get on to the esplanade. From the casino, I could see the devilish position they were in.” Labatt decided to siphon as many Rileys and Fusiliers through the casino as possible. Once in the streets beyond, the troops could start clearing buildings in an eastward drive to free the Essex Scottish.38

  Aboard Calpe, news was increasingly distorted. An 0810 signal reported: “Elements of Johnny have made progress, most in front of Tobacco factory.” This was followed by another signal at 0817: “Have control of White Beach.”39 Based on these signals and his belief that “it appeared essential to take the East cliff,” Roberts played his last card by sending the 17 officers and 352 other ranks of No. 40 Royal Marine Commando to seize the eastern headland.40

  Roberts, Hughes-Hallett, and Commander Ryder briefly conferred. Ryder then returned to Locust and advised Lieutenant Colonel Joseph Picton-Phillips “that Red and White beaches were clear of opposition and the General wished the marines to go in and support the Essex Scottish through White Beach [actually Red Beach],” Captain Peter Hellings of ‘A’ Company recorded. “The Colonel gave his orders from Locust, the idea being to pass through the beach to the town and there reform and report to the Colonel of the Essex Scottish, the object of the force being to pass around the west and south of the town, and attack the batteries on the eastern cliff from the south.”41

  Amazingly, as one French commentator later said, none of the officers questioned how the marines were supposed to carry out “a mere walk of two to two and a half miles along the rue de Sygogne, where no one had yet advanced more than 20 yards, the Rue Chanzy, the Arques road, the inner harbour and the heights of Neuville!”42

  Picton-Phillips, his headquarters, and ‘A’ Company transferred to two LCMs and the commandos in the chasseurs to five LCAs. Forming off Green Beach, the landing craft started the run to White Beach—a move that “meant steaming parallel to the shore for a considerable distance. The chasseurs formed up on either flank... in an attempt to screen them from the fire of the shore batteries.” Lieutenant Malcolm Buist, commanding the chasseurs, quickly “realized that this landing was to be a sea parallel of the Charge of the Light Brigade. There was a barrage coming from the cliffs on the east side of the harbour and from the houses on the promenade which showed only too well that White Beach was under a very heavy fire. Added to which there was a blazing LCT high and dry on the beach, and another abandoned alongside it. Shells started to burst... round the group of landing craft, which we endeavoured to screen by smoke; and I shouted to Colonel Phillips to ask what he thought about going on; but I doubt whether he heard me. Anyway he merely waved his arms and grinned to show that he meant to land at all costs.”43

  Struck by shellfire, Buist’s damaged chasseur fell out of line about three thousand yards off the beach. The LCA carrying Captain J.C. Manners and No. 12 Platoon of ‘X’ Company also fell behind when both engines failed. Managing to get one stuttering weakly along, the crew reached a spare LCA, and Manners transferred his men to it.44

  Five hundred yards from the beach, the chasseurs broke away before the water became too shallow for their draft. Hellings’s LCM had lost power and stalled inside the smokescreen for the two minutes it took to get the engine restarted. As the craft limped out of the smoke, Hellings saw the LCM with Picton-Phillips aboard and an LCA carrying ‘B’ Company’s Captain R.K. Devereaux and No. 8 Platoon approaching a beach “under heavy fire.”

  Suddenly, Picton-Phillips climbed on the gunwale to direct the landing craft. “Thus, leading the boats and open to most intense M.G., he led his commando into the beach. As the range shortened and the smoke cleared there was no doubt in any man’s mind that an attempt to reach the town over that beach would mean certain death to the majority. In spite of all these facts my commanding officer refused to turn back until he had proved the uselessness of the adventure by his personal action. The [LCM] reached the beach and, realizing now the futility of further action, he stood in the stern in full view of all, placing his white... gloves on his hands and waving to the boats astern to return to the cover of the smoke.”

  As the trailing boats began turning about, Picton-Phillips was shot. A lieutenant “gave him rum, but he died about 5 minutes later.” His actions in preventing most of the boats from landing saved about two hundred marines.45 But his LCM and one LCA carrying Lieutenant Ken Smale’s platoon had grounded. Smale looked on a “scene of horror and carnage where people had, quite literally, been blown to pieces. We charged up the beach and took shelter behind a Churchill tank; I never realized I would be so keen to press my nose against a lump of steel.”46

  Captain Devereaux’s LCA was twelve feet short of the beach when he saw an LCM lying broadside on the rocks with a dozen dead marines next to it. Turning hard astern, his LCA collided with Hellings’s LCM. Holed, the LCA was sinking when a chasseur arrived and rescued everyone aboard.47 Hellings’s LCM had the steering gear shot away, and then the engine failed. A chasseur took it under tow.48

  Arriving in the spare LCA, Manners saw that the smokescreen had thinned dramatically and the last thousand yards to the beach would be crossed fully exposed. “We were hit through the stern and the whole engine caught fire. By this time we were the only available target... and we were engaged heavily... I gave the order to abandon the [LCA] and swim around to avoid the fire. It could be seen by that time that the landing on White Beach had not been successful.” After a half hour of swimming, the men were picked up by the destroyer Brocklesby.49

  The marines had reached the beach at 0830 hours. Those ashore were stranded. Corporal W.J. Harvey, who landed with Smale, had come “under strong enemy M.G. fire [and] took cover behind a tank which was still firing but unable to move.”50

  “Of the men who reached the shore,” a Royal Marine report concluded, “those who lived to disembark were unable to get further up the beach than about 60 yards.”51

  Fighting still raged in and around the casino, the maze-like building now a nightmarish place. Narrow hallways passed large and small rooms used for gaming, counting winnings, offices, storage, and God knew what else. Rileys, Fusiliers, and engineers fought side by side. The engineer Sergeant George Hickson went on a rampage. Creeping up on a sniper, he set a demolition charge that not only killed the German but knocked down several walls. Liking this technique, Hickson eliminated another sniper by blasting a wall down on him. He then tackled a heavy gun emplacement beside the casino by blowing its door off with three pounds of plastic explosive. The explosion’s force killed the five gunners manning the artillery piece. Hickson then wrapped the gun barrel with a one-pound charge that shattered it.

  Gathering about eighteen men, Hickson led them into the town. He still hoped to seize the post office and destroy its telephone exchange. Despite heavy sniper resistance, the party got close to St. Rémy Church. Hickson was surprised to see civilians “moving freely about the streets and making no attempt to take cover.” Realizing these “civilians” were actually locating individual Canadians for the snipers, he fired a Bren gun burst that “cleared the stre
ets.” The Canadians then broke into a house and wiped out the Germans inside in a melee of hand-to-hand fighting. With ammunition all but exhausted, Hickson led the way back to the casino.52

  Other small parties also made sporadic forays into Dieppe. Sergeant Pierre Dubuc led eleven Fusiliers through the backyards of buildings paralleling Rue de Dumas, which extended east from the cliff to intersect Rue de Sygogne by the casino. Dubuc and his men wriggled through a narrow gap next to the Sygogne’s roadblock. As they approached a small park, three Germans in a machine-gun pit there opened fire. A grenade knocked out the machine gun. Finding the Germans playing dead, the Fusiliers killed them with gunfire.

  As snipers opened fire from the windows of a school by the park, Dubuc led the men sprinting along Rue Claude Groulard and then Quai Bérigny, which was bordered to the south by a large public garden. A sniper round struck one man in the heel, but he refused to go back alone to the beach. Returning the sniper fire from the school stopped the shooting there. The Fusiliers ran on to the Bassin Duquesne, a small, mostly enclosed part of the harbour, and skirted its southern flank at a dead run while under fire from a machine gun on the other side. They reached Bassin du Canada, another small artificial enclosure in which two vessels similar to R-Boats were tied alongside a couple of miniature submarines. Several Germans guarding the boats were brought under fire and killed. Dubuc led the Fusiliers south alongside the railroad bordering the west side of the Bassin du Canada. As they reached its southwest corner, fifteen heavily armed Germans appeared. Dubuc’s Bren gun clicked empty, and several men announced they too were out of ammunition. The Fusiliers surrendered.

  The Germans led them into a backyard. An order was shouted in German. Nobody moved. In English they were told to undress. Nobody moved. When the order was repeated in French, the men reluctantly removed uniforms and equipment, piling everything in a heap and retaining just their underwear. After forcing the twelve men to face a wall with arms pressed against it, the Germans gathered the equipment and clothes. Leaving a single guard, they departed.

  Dubuc asked the guard if he spoke English. A little English, a little French, the man replied. Dubuc requested water. As the man turned, Dubuc jumped him, and several others joined in. As the men wrestled, one Fusilier grabbed a long piece of pipe and “swinging it over his head cut the German’s head in half.”

  The men sprinted wildly for the beach. There was no plan. Dubuc had no idea what streets to follow. The group became separated. Dubuc burst on alone to the promenade. He never saw any of the other men again and assumed they had been recaptured. A strange stillness had settled over the beach, the fire not as heavy as before. Dubuc ran along the promenade until he was just northeast of the casino. Three knocked-out tanks stood on the shingle below. Dubuc ran to their cover and found Lieutenant Colonel Ménard on a stretcher beside one. Captain Vandelac stood nearby. Many Fusiliers hunkered along the seawall and in the cover of the tanks. Dubuc asked what was happening. Vandelac said they were holding until boats came to withdraw them. It was all they could do.53

  21. Pretty Shaky All Around

  At 0900 hours, Captain John Hughes-Hallett decided “the troops ashore were in difficulties and... unlikely to gain possession of the East and West Cliffs which dominated the main beaches. It was learned also that even some of the buildings on the beach front were still in enemy hands. It was obvious... the military situation was serious, and that it was becoming steadily more difficult for the ships and craft to close [on] the beaches.”1

  Sitting on the floor of Major General Ham Roberts’s headquarters, correspondent Quentin Reynolds watched how the general smoked “one cigarette after another and kept a large cup of hot tea beside him.”2 Roberts had “taken off his coat and he was sweating a little but he was calm, alert... Captain Hughes-Hallett came into the room. No one would have thought that he’d been through anything more strenuous than a maneuver. He and Roberts talked. They were like co-captains of a team, each respecting the other’s opinion... They discussed the advisability of withdrawing the men to keep pace with the timetable. They decided to withdraw them.”

  Hughes-Hallett said, “I’d really do it as quickly as possible” and suggested 1030 as the earliest practicable time.3 This would give Air Vice-Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory time to advance the planned air support for the withdrawal. Hughes-Hallett also needed to organize landing craft. The withdrawal should, he said, “be confined to personnel.” Tanks, mortars, and other heavy equipment must be abandoned.4

  Roberts hesitated, “loath to abandon hope and reconcile himself to the failure of the operation.”5 Then he said quietly, “Bring them home.”6 Returning to the bridge, Hughes-Hallett prepared a coded message announcing Vanquish—the order for beginning the withdrawal. Just before he sent it, Roberts asked for a delay to 1100.7 He needed time to ensure that all units were informed, especially the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders, believed to be well inland. Air Commodore Adrian Cole supported the delay to buy Leigh-Mallory more time.8

  Holding offshore were the LCTs carrying two remaining flights of Calgary tanks and about seven hundred men—mostly engineers and additional beach parties.9 The destroyer Garth had fired about six hundred shells—mostly in futile efforts to silence artillery on the headland east of Dieppe. The ship’s ammunition almost exhausted, Hughes-Hallett ordered Garth to escort the two LCT flights back to England.10

  Ashore on White Beach, Lieutenant Colonel Bob Labatt faced ever-deteriorating communications. He supposedly commanded all 4th Brigade, but had no link to any battalions except his own Rileys. Not only was wireless reception poor but now German operators were jamming the nets with bogus messages, which meant every signal had to be double-checked. A garbled signal from Calpe just after 0900 apparently set the evacuation forward to 0930. This puzzled Labatt, as he “knew that the tide would not be right at that time. Shortly afterwards the evacuation time was changed to 1100 hours.

  “The evacuation order changed my plan but little. It was essential to keep pressing and at the same time to plaster West Cliff and the buildings across the esplanade with everything available. I continued to ask for smoke and aerial bombardment for these two targets.” Of his headquarters section, operating in an exposed position near the casino, Labatt was the only man unwounded. “It was a grim feeling to be in command of the finest brigade in the Canadian Army only to find it in a position to which there was no tactical solution.” Labatt anticipated hand-to-hand fighting during the withdrawal. He wanted aerial smoke to conceal the men and bombardments to smash the buildings and emplacements sheltering Germans. “The greatest bravery in the world (and much was cheerfully showed all day) could achieve nothing unsupported.” But the bombers and smoke-laying planes never came—even though “there was constant activity in the air” that he found “thrilling. Planes chased each other all over the sky.”11

  Leigh-Mallory’s desired great air battle was in full play by 0900. The Luftwaffe had reacted hesitantly at first, its response “confined entirely to fighters patrolling the area in small numbers. The German control merely instructed his aircraft to go to Dieppe area where large numbers of British bombers and fighters were operating.” Leigh-Mallory realized the Luftwaffe “had not been at a high state of readiness.”12 This was true, as Luftwaffe No. 3 Air Fleet had released a third of its pilots to the night-long party with the Women’s Auxiliary.

  Most Spitfires covering the raiding ships during the early morning encountered no Germans. Those that did appear either kept warily distant or were easily chased away. Of his thirty-minute sortie by forty-eight Spitfires that ended at 0550 hours, Wing Commander Myles Duke-Woolley reported it “was, in practical terms, a waste of time but a necessary show of force.”13

  The Germans, Leigh-Mallory thought, “did not appear to appreciate the scale of our effort.” By 0700, they still seldom had more than twenty to thirty fighters in the skies.14 Not until 0830 did the first German bomber attack the
ships. By then, however, German fighter strength averaged fifty fighters overhead, with dogfights in full swing.15 Although German fighters within range were greatly outnumbered, their bases were much closer. This meant each plane could remain on station longer and return more quickly than Allied aircraft could.

  In Uxbridge, Leigh-Mallory conducted a complex juggling act not only to maintain the vital fighter cover but also to deploy bombers, fighter-bombers, smoke-laying aircraft, and reconnaissance flights. The complex air plan unfolded on schedule through to 0900. Then, at 0916, Calpe called urgently for a squadron to bomb the Hindenburg Battery on the western headland overlooking Dieppe. Up to now, each squadron had had an hour’s notice before its presence over the French coast was required. Now Leigh-Mallory demanded that squadrons scramble the instant he called. In this case, a Boston bomber squadron was scrambled at 0926.16

  As more calls came in for smoke and bombing missions against the headlands, Leigh-Mallory asked Air Commodore Cole for a situation report. “Situation too obscure to give useful report,” Cole replied at 0956. “Air co-operation faultless. Enemy air opposition now increasing. Have you any questions?”

  A thirty-minute smokescreen along Red and White Beaches was requested for between 1100 and 1130 hours to screen the evacuation. Leigh-Mallory ordered as many aircraft as possible fitted with SCI smoke sprayers to fulfill this purpose. Roberts signalled that Green Beach also required smoke screening.17

  Of aircraft committed, the smoke-laying planes were fewest in number. As the day wore on, though, they were most in demand. Just two Blenheim IV squadrons and one Boston were available. These had been considered sufficient during planning to fulfill the scheduled smoke-laying missions. No allowance had been made for the “possibility of impromptu sorties.” Twenty-three additional requested sorties—including Labatt’s—over the course of about three hours left the squadrons hard pressed.