Terrible Victory

by Mark Zuehlke

  Von Zangen had sought not only to rally the troops on the Leopold Canal front, but also those garrisoning the increasingly water-logged Walcheren Island. Unable to stem seawater flowing through the breach in the Westkapelle dyke, conditions for Germans and Dutch alike had steadily deteriorated. Then, even as von Zangen had issued his statement, an RAF formation of 120 Lancasters led by four Mosquitos struck at Vlissingen. Five waves of twelve bombers each bombed the Nolledijk west of the city. Spaced ten minutes apart, the waves unleashed a mixed load of explosives that included many 1,000-pound bombs fused with time-delay detonators. A second group of 60 Lancasters, meanwhile, struck a dyke about a mile east of the dockyards. A total of 730 tons of explosives rained down on these targets.11

  Seventeen-year-old Ad van Dijk and his father, Vlissigen’s financial officer, were among only about 3,000 of the city’s population of 22,000 still living in the small city. The rest had fled or been ordered to leave. Ad’s father remained full-time to see to his municipal responsibilities, while the rest of the family had relocated to a farm near Veere on Walcheren’s northern coast. On October 7, Ad had bicycled–as he regularly did–to Vlissingen and had seen the bombers leaving. He found his father on the flat-topped roof of their home near the harbour. Despite the danger presented by the exploding bombs, the man had remained here throughout the raid. At first, Ad thought the dykes little damaged. Then a slow, steady series of massive explosions rapidly widened the breaches. The delayed-action bombs, buried deep into the dyke by their massive weight, continued to detonate for about six hours.12 Soon the breach west of Vlissingen was 150 feet wide and the one to the east a gaping 1,000 feet.13

  Before dusk, Ad cycled out to the Nolledijk. Seawater surged through and into the fields. He could see logs, lumber, even a section of a German guardhouse rushing along in the water. Peddling back through the city in the dark, exploding bombs still sending huge balls of red flame high overhead, he marvelled at the lack of panic displayed by the Dutch civilians. Stalwartly, they moved furniture and other belongings from the ground floor to the upstairs, or nailed boards across the bottoms of doors in an effort to prevent the inflow of water. Surprisingly, there had been no Dutch casualties in this raid.14

  The bombers that struck the Nolledijk also attacked the nearby West Battery. One large coastal gun here was destroyed by a direct hit, a second jammed and thrown out of balance, but the other two remained operational. One soldier was killed, another missing and presumed dead, and four were wounded. When the ammunition bunker’s roof blew in, about four thousand shells were destroyed and the place was flooded by three feet of water. All bicycles–the battery’s only means of transportation–were destroyed, as were the cookhouse, recreation room, canteen, and some barracks.15

  Conditions throughout Walcheren Island rapidly worsened after the raid. The van Dijk home, like all others in lower Vlissingen, flooded twice daily at high tide to a depth of three feet. Four days after the Vlissingen raid, RAF bombers again struck Walcheren–breaching the coastal dyke near Veere. Henceforth, water spread relentlessly until the entire saucer-like interior below sea level became a mucky floodplain. Only the slightly higher bands on the outer edges remained. While the Dutch knew that the floodwaters would rise and fall according to the tides, Ad van Dijk realized that the Germans did not understand this. “They were very demoralized and didn’t feel at home. They went from the houses they were staying in to their gun positions by walking barefoot with their pant legs rolled up. I learned that they were all men from inland parts of Germany, who had no knowledge of the sea. They didn’t like the seawater.”

  “What do you think?” one asked the boy. “How high will the water come?”

  “You know Middelburg and the big tower there?” When the men gathered around all nodded, van Dijk added, “Just at the top. That will be the level.” The Germans noticeably paled, apparently believing the water could rise to the peak of a tower so tall that it could be seen from anywhere on the island. The youth happily sowed fear in their souls and was rewarded to hear several confide that they had lost all hope. The floodwaters would either claim them or they would be killed by the Allies. None would survive, for their orders were to fight to the last man.16

  The last-stand order, Eberding believed, emanated from Hitler personally. The 64th Infantry Division in the Breskens Pocket and the 70th Infantry Division guarding Walcheren Island and South Beveland were to mount an “obstinate defence,” the October 7 order declared. Such orders had become common on the Russian front and had always been the Führer’s work. In German battle doctrine, “obstinate defence” called for extreme sacrifices, if merited. Eberding considered the tactic unwarranted here. Consequently, he substituted “holding defence” before distributing the order through his division, while 70th Division’s Generalleutnant Wilhelm Daser kept the original wording. By “holding defence,” Eberding meant that his men should surrender no ground without his personal instruction.17 Given the situation on the Leopold Canal, the general had been confident the division could hold so long as supplies and manpower permitted.

  That had changed two days later. The “possibility of an Allied waterborne assault at the Braakman inlet had been dismissed [by Eberding] on the assumption that the opponent did not have the requisite equipment in the area.”18 After throwing his divisional reserves against the beachhead at Hoofdplaat, Eberding sought assistance from Fifteenth Army. To his good fortune, a mist blanketed the West Scheldt between Walcheren and the port of Breskens, enabling von Zangen to send reinforcements from the 70th Division by boat on October 9. By nightfall, Eberding could deploy three and a half battalions against the beachhead and declared it “sealed off,” although the “situation [was] still tense.”19

  FROM THE CANADIAN perspective, 3rd Division’s Major General Dan Spry believed the beachhead anything but boxed in. 9 cib’s Brigadier John Rockingham’s reports encouraged him to completely reverse its importance to Operation Switchback, and order 8th Canadian Infantry Brigade to reinforce the beachhead. On the evening of October 9, Spry consequently directed Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Cripps Lewis to attack south of the beachhead in the Isabellapolder area near Boekhoute to establish a land link to 9 cib.20 The two brigades would then advance on the port of Breskens. Seizing the port would sever any chance of supply or escape for 64th Infantry Division, ensuring its destruction.

  Spry realized that the intensity of fighting in the beachhead meant 9 CIB needed reinforcement, but sending an infantry regiment seemed impossible. 7 CIB was completely tied down on the Leopold, and 8 CIB was committed to the breakthrough. That left only his reconnaissance unit, so he ordered it moved by Buffaloes into the beachhead on the night of October 10. Its armoured cars being too large, each troop was equipped with four Bren carriers and would fight as mounted infantry.21

  Despite shifting the division’s main weight away from the Leopold Canal, Spry never considered abandoning the bridgehead. Its role in pinning the major German strength in place was too valuable, and exploitation from here remained a key component of Operation Switchback. But the bridgehead would never become usable unless 7 CIB gained the Maldegem–Aardenburg crossing west of the bridgehead. A sixteen-foot-square pillbox that bristled with machine guns set behind two-foot-thick walls blocked any advance in this direction.

  The Regina Rifles were ordered to take it out, with ‘C’ Company kicking off the attack on October 10 at 0250. Halfway to the pillbox, ‘A’ Company would leapfrog into the lead.22 Major Ronald Shawcross was still dragging the leg that had been injured when the house collapsed on him during the October 6 crossing operation. His back also hurt like hell. He was dispirited, but not by physical pain. The loss of so many men during the past days crushed his shoulders. No question that tonight more good men must die.23

  ‘C’ Company’s Lieutenant Bob Gray also expected a rough night. Even after being reinforced with two officers and thirty other ranks, the company remained badly depleted. Both new officers were artillerymen, who had been giv
en a crash course in infantry fighting. Gray lined the company up, put the gunners in the midst of an experienced section, and “instructed them to follow the veteran other ranks as the fighting progressed… they were to be learners, not leaders.”

  Just before Gray led his men forward, the company’s second-in-command, who had been on leave, ran up and announced that he was taking the reins and the lieutenant was ordered Left Out of Battle. In every attack, a certain number of officers and men were held back as an experienced nucleus around which a company could be rebuilt in the event the unit was shredded. Gray briefed the officer and “then departed in an exhausted state.” Crossing the kapok bridge, he proceeded to the Reginas’ rear echelon area and promptly “slept the clock around. It was my first sleep of any kind since 6 October.”24

  ‘C’ Company fought through to its objective by 0345. ‘A’ Company then moved through its lines and was almost immediately cut to ribbons by a heavy mortar barrage that reduced it to single platoon strength.25 ‘C’ Company rushed a platoon forward, and during the course of this move, one of the gunners-turned-infantry officers excitedly ran too far ahead of his section and was killed.26

  Shawcross and his mixed ‘A’ and ‘C’ Company force managed to reach the pillbox, and cleared it in vicious hand-to-hand combat that netted thirty-five prisoners. The regiment’s war diarist noted that although the Germans were from a grab bag of infantry units, they were all “the real Nazi type, [that] have no idea of surrender, and still think Germany will win the war.”27 Two hundred yards away lay the blown bridge, but the Reginas were spent. Controlling the dyke’s water side along the stretch of ground won was sufficient challenge. The deadly grenade exchange game with the Germans began.

  As Shawcross had feared, ‘A’ Company had been destroyed. Only twenty of his men still stood. It was also the end of the line for this D-Day veteran. Lieutenant Colonel Foster Matheson ordered him to see the medical officer, who discovered he had “extensive bruising, internal injuries of some kind, shock and my right foot was dragging.” Shawcross was evacuated to hospital in Bruges. “It hurt a little being pulled out of battle in this fashion after this long period of comradeship and fighting, but in the end I realized I needed to go. I was tired, worn out and like most, confused with the horror of death, the bloated bodies of all the animals, humans and the general horror of the whole thing… all [those] days and nights of fear and dread.” On D-Day, Shawcross had weighed 220 pounds. Now he was 165. Eventually, it was discovered that among his other injuries, Shawcross had a broken back–a compression fracture of the third and fourth lumbar vertebrae probably inflicted during the building collapse. He would be hospitalized for the rest of the war.28

  Within hours of sending the major to see the medical officer, Matheson too was ordered out of the line. When the lieutenant colonel had come to brigade headquarters on the afternoon of October 10, Brigadier Jock Spragge recognized that Matheson was verging on a complete breakdown.29 The popular commander was replaced temporarily by Lieutenant Colonel G.H. Gilday, who had no connection to the Reginas. Hardly an original officer remained.

  THE ROYAL WINNIPEG RIFLES also received a new battalion commander on October 10, but its men and officers knew him well. As with Matheson, Lieutenant Colonel John Meldram had been ordered out for a rest. Both knew their combat days were over. They had landed together on Juno Beach and led their regiments through months of desperate battle. The responsibility of command over such a long and intense period had taken its grim toll on the physical and psychological health of many First Canadian Army senior officers. The time had come for younger, fresher men. The Winnipegers’ new commander was just twenty-seven.

  Major Lockhart Ross “Lochie” Fulton was also a D-Day veteran, who had won the Distinguished Service Order during the Normandy campaign. Fulton had just returned to the regiment from leave granted after Calais fell. He and two other 7 CIB company commanders had spent the past couple of days chasing after the brigade. Knowing they were overdue, they had rotated turns driving the jeep, and none of them had slept during the forty-eight-hour pursuit. Fulton walked into brigade headquarters shortly after Matheson’s departure, only to be scolded by the adjutant for being a day late and then told the brigadier wanted to see him immediately. Presenting himself, he offered no excuses while the brigadier tore a strip off him. Then Spragge said, “Well, you’re now commanding the Winnipegs. John Meldram has been returned to England. I want you to get moving. You’ve got companies across the canal and we’ve got to get a breakthrough there.”30

  Spragge wanted the Winnipegs to drive a mile north from the canal to seize first the small hamlet of Graaf Jan and then the larger village of Biezen.31 As the Winnipegs increased the bridgehead’s depth, Spragge would pull the Canadian Scottish Regiment away from Moershoofd on the extreme right flank preparatory to a move through the Regina front on October 12 to seize the bridge crossing and capture Eede. Fulton was taken aback. He had expected to return as the battalion’s second-in-command and be able to catch up on the lost sleep. Now he was promoted to acting lieutenant colonel pending rank confirmation, replacing a man he respected, and being told to lead the regiment into an attack “as quickly as I could get it organized.”

  Fulton rushed to the canal and started across the kapok bridge to check on his rifle companies. No sooner had he stepped on the bridge than the Germans began dropping shells into the water. Fulton sprinted across and threw himself into a slit trench beside Major Dave Campbell, who commanded ‘D’ company. Campbell reported the companies all down to about platoon strength. Between the heavy shelling and the Germans dug in on the opposite side of the dyke, both men thought “the possibility of any attack succeeding was almost out of the question.” But Fulton had orders.32

  At 1400 hours on October 11, he threw ‘C’ Company towards Graaf Jan. Some of the ground they must cross was flooded, the streets of the hamlet itself transformed into canals, and the yards awash. At first, the men sank up to their knees, then waists. In places, they lurched into water neck deep, desperately holding weapons above their heads to keep them dry. Little fire came from Graaf Jan until the Winnipegs closed on the buildings and a strong German force stormed out of Biezen to meet them. A bitter struggle ensued as soldiers fired on each other at point-blank range. Ammunition almost exhausted, ‘C’ Company finally withdrew to the narrow front by the canal. The Germans smothered the position with artillery fire and pushed infantry up to where they could harass it with small-arms fire. Movement became impossible “except by crawling on the semi-flooded ground or in water-filled ditches, both of which were littered with German and Canadian dead,” reported the war diarist.33

  Determined to succeed, Fulton ordered ‘C’ Company forward the next morning at 0530 hours, with a platoon from ‘A’ Company beefing its ranks. He personally led the attack, preferring to be at the front of his troops. Again the men wallowed through the flooded ground, gaining the village by 0620. This time, they had most of the village in hand before the Germans counterattacked from Biezen, but were unable to gain the northerly houses. It became “a house to house battle and in some cases room to room.”34

  ‘C’ Company’s commander was pressed against the outside of a house, with Germans holding the second storey. His runner was beside him. Overhead, a German kept poking his rifle out a window, but if he leaned over to shoot the two Canadians, they would be able to engage him with their guns. It was a deadly standoff. The officer knew they must get a grenade through the window or the German would soon drop one on their heads, so he yelled at the runner to do the job. “I don’t know how to do it,” the man replied. A new reinforcement, the man just stared apprehensively at the grenade. The officer snatched it from his hand, pulled the pin, held it a few seconds, and then stepped out far enough from the wall to allow a clean pitch into the window. One more building was secured.35

  ‘C’ Company’s Sergeant Kelly decided the battle by rushing his section into the open so they could throw grenades freely into the wi
ndows of the enemy-held houses. “The exploding grenades were too much for the Germans and leaving many dead and wounded [they] withdrew to Biezen. Casualties among the [Winnipegs] were also heavy and included Lt. D.L. Riesberry and one section of ‘A’ Company who were killed or captured when they were surrounded and had used up all their ammunition. The battalion snipers were brought forward and succeeded in killing Germans who risked exposing themselves. The remainder of the day was devoted largely to reinforcing the walls of occupied houses and in bringing up food and ammunition.”36 The body of thirty-year-old Donald Leach Riesberry of Brandon, Manitoba was soon discovered, along with those of most of his men.

  With Biezen obviously strongly garrisoned, Fulton held his badly depleted force at Graaf Jan. The hamlet stood parallel to the southernmost part of Eede, and its seizure served to somewhat protect the right flank of the Canadian Scottish fighting to take the bridge crossing. That was the best the Winnipegs could manage.

  THE CANADIAN SCOTTISH attack had kicked off at 0100 hours on October 12 with ‘C’ Company, commanded by Lieutenant Jack Gallagher, striking out from where the Regina Rifles’ ‘A’ Company held the pillbox. Lieutenant Royce Marshall’s No. 15 Platoon led, as the Can Scots “crept cautiously through the sloppy, sucking mud” along the water side of the dyke.37 Marshall’s men reached the Maldegem– Aardenburg road and set up on its right-hand side. Lieutenant Peter MacDonnel then jumped No. 14 Platoon silently across the road and consolidated to its left. The Can Scots began “burrowing into the canal side of the dyke,” Marshall later recounted. “Soon we found the Germans were burrowed in on the other side… when grenades started to fall amongst us. We, of course, retaliated and all night and the next day we exchanged grenades to such a degree that the RSM [Regimental Sergeant Major] was complaining that the battalion reserve was nearly exhausted.”38