Memoirs re Combined Operations - A. G. Kirby, Dieppe

The Dieppe Raid: August 19, 1942 - Part 2

Earlier days in the sheltered harbour at Newhaven, southern England

During WW1 Newhaven was a principal port. Link to Historic Newhaven

 - Sunday, August 16th, 1942

The bosun's call shrieked its message of awakening as the Quartermaster walked by only a few feet away, shouting at the top of his voice, "Wakey wakey wakey... lash up and stow... come on my sons... you know what sons I mean." I rolled over and saw that McKenna was already up and partially dressed, so I sat up and began the painful business of coming back to life. Looking the other way I saw that Lantz's bed was empty. I was about to ask McKenna where he was when I saw him come in through the huge sliding door on the far side of the building, all dressed, washed and shaven. That was Lantz, always early, always clean, and when conditions permitted, neatly dressed. As he approached I shouted to him "Where the hell are the heads?" "Just wait 'til you see....they are just beyond the end of the shed....over there," he pointed.

I quickly donned by socks, underwear, pants and boots, then with my attache case in one hand and my flannel in the other, I trotted off after McKenna as he headed in that direction. A group of sailors had gathered around a pump on the deck of the jetty, out of which poured a stream of water, and each of us took a turn at washing, as best we could. Right beside was a canvas screen, obviously erected to give as much privacy as a sailor could expect... to those who were performing the more basic human functions. I walked inside and was greeted by a row of ten inch diameter holes cut in the deck of the jetty to allow the excrement to pass through and into the harbour water beneath the jetty. As I carried out what I came in to do, I looked down through one of the holes beside me and saw the intake pipe of the pump that supplied the washing water, about ten feet away, and hoped that the tide would be running when I had my turn at washing my hands and face. At the other end of the shed was an Army field kitchen truck, where we were able to get some Army mess kit dishes, and a feed of what we called (in the Navy) red lead and bacon. This was a rather common Navy breakfast and consisted of fried bacon covered with canned tomatoes. Quite good food we thought, considering the conditions, but I couldn't help wondering from where this unit drew its cooking water.

At 0800 we found the Flotilla Commander and I was told to find landing craft R-135 and report to Sub. Lt. Leach. A grizzly Petty Officer pointed in the direction in which I should begin the search for my craft, so I waved to Lantz and McKenna and took off. It was not easy to read the numbers on the bows of the boats because they were tied up side by side about six deep. However, I saw what I thought was a three and a five on the side of one which was the third one out from the jetty and made my way out to it, walking over the foc’sles of the intervening boats. As I stepped aboard, a young looking sailor stuck his head above the dodger over the Coxswain's seat. "Is Sub. Lt. Leach around?" I asked. "Are you the new Coxswain?" he countered. Suddenly, my head swirled and my imagination spiralled into the clouds. In our Flotilla, we had all been trained as Coxswains, but I had never been the official Coxswain of a boat. I told myself that my age prevented me from being designated as a Coxswain in my own Flotilla, as I thought that I was the youngest person in the group. However, looking back now, I can see that I was far too immature in my manner, to be perceived as a Coxswain. Nevertheless, I was not about to let, (what appeared to be) a wonderful stroke of luck slip through my fingers. "This is R-135 isn't it?" I asked. "Yes it is" he replied. I did my best to make my 5'7" body look 6' tall and barked (hoping that my voice wouldn't crack) "Then where in the hell is he!" "He's ashore now, but I expect he will be back some time this morning. He is supposed to be at some kind of a meeting somewhere... wait... there he is now, coming up the jetty." "Where? Oh yeah, I see him now... thanks." I took off across the inboard boats and climbed up onto the jetty and doubled off toward him. I saluted smartly as I halted in front of him. "Able Seaman Kirby Sir, reporting for duty as temporary Coxswain." "Oh," he answered, "I expected a Leading Hand." "I'm qualified for Leading Hand, Sir," I lied, "and I am General Service." In the Royal Navy, their regular peace time force ratings were referred to as General Service and were considered much superior to the R.N.V.R. or wartime-only ratings, which they called H.O.s for hostilities only. Mr. Leach looked at my shoulder flashes and with a pained expression on his face he said, "Right Canada, you'll do, follow me." 

Motor launch and four landing craft (R-145 in front).

Photo at Winnipeg Free Press Archives

As we stepped onto the foc’sle of R-135, Mr. Leach addressed the seaman whom I had met a minute or two before, "Ordinary Seaman Hopper, this is Able Seaman Kirby who will be our coxswain in place of Leading Seaman Henry, until he returns." Then turning to me he said, "Well, I'll have to leave you to get on with provisioning and repairing the boat as I am due at a meeting at this very moment." Then, turning, he left, as I saluted his back. I looked at Ordinary Seaman Hopper and tried to open a conversation in such a way as to solicit his goodwill without being defferent. "My name is Albert but people call me Kirb. What should I call you?" My name is John, but I get Hop all the time," he replied.

"Well, that sounds like a good combination, Kirb and Hop; where is the Stoker, by the way, I presume we have one?" I said. "Yes, he's Petty Officer Herb Grear. He's over at the Engineering Officer's lorry trying to get some help with an engine problem." I turned that right out of my mind as I felt that it was not my worry, but did not feel great about having a Petty Officer for a Stoker. I didn't like being outranked by a black faced Stoker. Later that day I met Herb Grear and decided that I liked him. He was especially easy to get along with and I also decided that having a P.O. as a Stoker was quite an advantage as he carried a number of Flotilla spare parts with him. The balance of the day, I wandered around the jetty, talking with several British sailors to see if I could find out anything about this exercise that we were all preparing for. I thought it was so typical of the R.N. that here we were getting ready to carry out what appeared to be a rather large exercise, and no one know anything about it. Finally, since it was Sunday, I decided to look up Lantz and McKenna to see how they were making out. They were as much in the dark as I was, so we decided to go into the town of Newhaven, where we spent the afternoon, had supper, then came back to the jetty and got ready for bed.

Newhaven Fort. Photo found at 'Historic Newhaven'

Part 3 to follow.

Please link to A. G. Kirby, Dieppe Part 1

Photos by GH

Website: Don Kemsley's Journal - Part 2

Don Kemsley - RCNVR and Combined Ops

 "Members of Combined Ops on their way to Sicily.

Please note Don Westbrook, top row, first on left"

"These men are aboard HMS Keren, photo dated 1943"

Mr. Kemsley, a member of RCNVR, trained in Halifax in the fall of 1942, and ultimately volunteered for Combined Operations. He travelled to Scotland near Christmas time in the Queen Elizabeth with 17,000 other Navy and Army troops and soon found himself training on all sorts of landing craft in southern England. From his notes it appears he then travelled back to Scotland before being shipped off to Sicily the long way 'round, i.e. by travelling aboard HMS Keren around Africa and to HMS Saunders in Egypt for more training.

"Comb. Ops at HMS Saunders. Tents in background. Don Westbrook
appears in back row, 4th from left, in large shorts (due to dysentery?)"

About his experience during the invasion of Sicily he writes, in part:

     The beaches were small and very shallow so we had difficulty getting

     up far enough on them to make a dry landing. The anti-aircraft guns on

     the beaches and on the ships at anchor kept the aircraft up high but there

     was constant bombing and straffing of the beaches for many days. We

     were harassed by German and Italian planes and the second night we

     were there they bombed and sunk a hospital ship* that was anchored and

     brightly lighted some distance from our beach.

Don certainly travelled a lot of miles before reaching Sicily, during the invasion and many more afterwards. His notes are full of information about his duties with Combined Ops, and because he spent some time with the 80th Flotilla shipping all the materials of war from Sicily to Italy in September, 1943 (two months after the invasion of Sicily), I feel he may have crossed paths with my father more than once.

I say thank you to Sandy Kemsley, Don's daughter, for making the effort to share her father's wartime journal with others.

Please link to and read Combined Operations in the Canadian Navy, 1943 by Don Kemsley.

* the hospital ship was likely the Talamba. Many medical staff perished

Photos by GH

Website: Don Kemsley's Journal - Part 1

Don Kemsley - RCNVR and Combined Ops

Much WW2 Combined Ops training took place in Inveraray, Scotland

Canadians in Combined Ops unloaded US troops at Arzew, North Africa (Nov. 1942)

This photo and the one above it are from Imperial War Museum

Don Kemsley was a member of RCNVR and Combined Operations during WW2 and his daughter Sandy has placed excerpts from his journals online that touch on several matters related to Canadians in Combined Ops. For example, in an entry entitled 'Goodbye to the Combined Operations' (link below*) names of other former members are noted, as are some memories related to Comb. Ops actions, dates re the formation of a Combined Ops Association after the war, and remarks about some members and membership activities over the years.

Included in the remarks is the following pertinent information:

"In 1983 Clayton Marks put together, and had printed, a book on the history of the Canadian Combined Operations during the 2nd World War that was well received and very informative and the first 2 printings sold out in a very few years. David Lewis had a 2 volume edition printed in 1997 that was an extension of the works of Clayton containing more pictures and stories."

Clayton's book is entitled COMBINED OPERATIONS and will soon be reprinted by his family members (and one other interested individual). More details will be shared in due course about the book. David Lewis' two-volume set was printed in the 1990s and is a rare set to find intact. Perhaps one day it will be reprinted as well. The set is entitled ST. NAZAIRE TO SINGAPORE: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945 and more information is shared here.

 Clayton Marks, top left. Photo from Combined Operations

Combined Operations inspired two more volumes of WW2 stories

*Please link to Mr. Kemsley's journal entry entitled Goodbye to the Combined Operations

Link to more Websites re Combined Operations

Unattributed Photos by GH

Memoirs re Combined Operations - A. G. Kirby, Dieppe

The Dieppe Raid: August 19, 1942 - Part 1

D. Harrison (L) with Al Kirby, in Scotland

The following story by Mr. A. Kirby (formerly of Woodstock, Ontario) is found in COMBINED OPERATIONS, a significant book written and compiled by Londoner Clayton Marks.

"Sharing WW2 memories, Mr. Kirby included"

CONCERNING the DIEPPE RAID 

A. G. Kirby - RCN - 4230 

- A Few Days Before the Raid

The shrill Bosuns' call broke the peace of a Saturday afternoon 'Make and Mend' as forcefully as the action bell on a destroyer, or the howl of the air raid alert in Picadilly Circus. "The following ratings report to the quarter deck on the double," it commanded, with the authority and rudeness, so characteristic of the Royal Navy of World War II. "Able Seaman Adlington, Able Seaman Bailey, Able Seaman Belontz... say again, Able Seaman Adlington, Able Seaman Bailey, Able Seaman Belontz, report to the quarter deck, on the double".

I lay on the lockers of our mess deck lazily passing the afternoon, when the Bosuns' call shook me back to reality. Adlington....Adlington....Christ that's me....well, not me, but since I'm standing by for Adlington I'd better get to the quarter deck to see what kind of a dirty job I'm being seen off for now.

 Halifax, 1941: "Addy" Addlington, fourth row back, third from left

 Four WW2 Vets reunite, including Art (Gash) Bailey, far right

 "Addy" Adlington* (groom) and new wife Mary, married in Glasgow.

Best man is Chuck Rose, RCNVR and Comb. Ops, w Mary's sister.

As I draw myself to a standing position, I reach my cap off the top locker and jam it down onto my head, square across my eyebrows in true RCN fashion. Out the door of the mess and down two steps to the sidewalk, then turn to skirt two sides of the parade ground in the lovely, August, afternoon warmth, of sunny Hampshire. Of course, I knew better than to cut across the parade ground, for fear that a gunner's mate may be within five nautical miles of me committing such blasphemous conduct, and I would never get finished doing punishment number eleven. As I walked along, my mind wandered back through the last seven or so months: graduating from Torpedo School at Halifax in December, volunteering for 'hazardous work' in small craft with England's Royal Navy, the trip to England in a rust bucket of a troop ship named the 'Vollendam', training through the Spring in southern England and Scotland and now sitting here in barracks at Portsmouth, twiddling my thumbs. My God, what a war! When in the world are we ever going to look down the barrel of a gun and see a Kraut just asking for it.

Here I am, eighteen years old, a fine specimen of a sailor, in great physical shape, fully trained after one and a half years in the finest Navy in the world, and on my way to be given some joe job, like scrubbing the deck in the Wrens' heads. Just think....I could have been living it up in London this weekend if only I hadn't sold my weekend leave to my buddy, Allan Adlington. One pound is a lot of money, but isn't it just my luck that "Addy" would draw some crummy job and I would have to do it for him. As I turned in to the Quartermaster's office, just off the quarterdeck, I reported, "Able Seaman Kirby here." The Quartermaster looked at me with a puzzled expression, "A.B. what?" "Able Seaman Kirby," I replied, thinking what a bunch of dolts these juicers are. "Oh, I mean Able Seaman Adlington....that is....I'm standing by for Able Seaman Adlington while he is on weekend leave".

"Right, well now my son, nip back to the mess and get your attache case, pack whatever you need for a weekend stay and report to the R.P.O.'s office. Don't forget your shaving gear, but remember, no more than you can pack in your attache case. Got it? Right, now 'op to it my lad."

As I turned to leave the office, I was met at the door by Lantz and McKenna. A.B. Lawrence Lantz, from the Gatineau area of Quebec, was our Flotilla barber, and one of the most liked of the seamen. He was a few months older than I, a lot quieter, and considered by all to be a steady, reliable, knowledgeable fellow. And so he was. I add the last statement because not everyone in our group turned out to be what he first appeared to be. A.B. Joe McKenna, another well mannered, very likable and quiet guy, was also about nineteen, but hailed from Souris, P.E.I.

I turned to the Q.M. "It looks like these two are standing by for Bailey and Belontz. What kind of a number do you have for them?" I queried. "Same story as you," he replied, "Get what you need for a weekend stay into your attache case and trot your useless bodies to the R.P.O.'s office at the double. A lorry is waiting for you and if you miss it you will bloody well have to walk."

As we cleared the door and started along the quarterdeck, heading for the mess, McKenna turned to me, "What's this all about anyway?" "Damned if I know," I answered, "The R.P.O. will no doubt give us the bad news when we get over there."

"Alright lads, I see you've got your gear with you, now I want you to fill in these forms for me, then you can board that lorry outside and be on your way," scowled the R.P.O. I looked at the piece of paper and across the top it said, "Next of kin form", then "This is not a will". I looked at the R.P.O. "What the hell kind of a job is this chief?" "No idea," he exclaimed. "An R boat Flotilla needs you three for a few days and then you will come right back here." "But what's this next of kin form all about," I persisted. "You lads have got to ride this bloody lorry out of here and sure as Christ made little green apples, one of you will fall out and kill yourself, and we have to know where to send your rum soaked body." We all realized that that was the only explanation we were going to get, so we complied and out the door we went and into the back of a 60 hundred weight idling on the roadway.

The trip to Newhaven took over three hours and we arrived there just after supper, completely unexpected. No one knew what we were required for, so we were told to pick up some bedding at a store room in a large shed on the jetty and report to the Flotilla Commanding Officer in the morning. At the stores, we were each given, one hammock mattress and two Navy blankets. We looked around the shed for a place to lay our heads down. The building was about the size of an airplane hanger and most of the floor area was covered with the beds of what looked like about two or three hundred sailors and other types.

We finally found a spot where we could be together and made up our beds for the night. We questioned the juicer sailors around us and found that the few nearest us were an R.N. Flotilla of R boats who had been moved here the day before and this freight shed was the only accommodation available. The general concensus was that some kind of an exercise was about to take place, but no one had any actual information. It was now about 2000 and we had had nothing to eat since noon hour, so we had a little discussion about whether we should go ashore to get some grub. We concluded that there would be nothing open, not even the pubs now, so we decided to hang around and shoot the breeze until we felt like sleeping.

And there ended Saturday night, August 15th, 1942.

"Terrible action just days away" Photo from The Watery Maze

Part 2 to follow.

*One might wonder if "Addy's" weekend leave included a dance with his future bride. At time of writing, Mr. and Mrs. Adlington live in London, Ontario

Please link to more Memoirs re Combined Operations

Unattributed Photos by G.Harrison