August 13, 1942
As the train crossed the border into Scotland, Mackie grabbed me by the shoulders and woke me. “Scots wha hae, laddie!” he said in an imitation Scottish accent, “Scots wha hae!”
“What’s up? Oh right, we’re in Scotland. Great,” I mumbled before putting my head back against the window and dozing again.
We were on our first leave since the regiment had returned to England after the cancellation of Operation Rutter. Mackie had wanted to visit Scotland ever since we’d arrived there off the ship almost two years ago. But with his motorcycle accident and then being confined to barracks because of all his AWOL infractions, he hadn’t made it. I wasn’t even sure he would be given leave this time. Two days before, however, he had scored the winning home run for the Royals in a baseball game against the Essex Scottish at Horsham. For this he had received a big clap on the back from Lt-Colonel Douglas Catto, who had just replaced Basher as our commanding officer. Basher had left camp after being replaced by his younger second-in-command. Turnbull said that lots of older officers were being replaced in the Canadian army by younger men. We all liked Catto, but somehow “Catto’s Dashers” didn’t have quite the same ring to it.
For our leave we had agreed to skip seeing relatives and just have fun and do some sightseeing in Glasgow and Edinburgh. This was fine with me, since I couldn’t bear the thought of more cups of tea with old aunties. Mackie also wanted to catch a train to Inverness to see some Highland scenery. Hearing about our plans, Smiler and Pullio had decided to come along as well. Murphy was still recovering from his burns in hospital, but we heard that he was doing well.
In Glasgow we visited the Clydeside shipyards, since Mackie wanted to see where big ships like the Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth had been built. He said his grandfather had worked there. Near the river Clyde we could see some tangled wreckage from enemy bombing raids. But we could hear hammering as construction of new ships for the Navy continued. I also took Mackie and the others to see the red sandstone tenement house that we had lived in before we emigrated to Canada.
In Edinburgh, Mackie, Pullio and Smiler were very impressed with all the grand buildings and kept saying how they liked it much better than Glasgow. (Being Glasgow-born, this annoyed me slightly, but I couldn’t disagree with them as Glasgow had looked a little shabby.) For a good view of Auld Reekie, as Edinburgh was nicknamed, we climbed to the top of Arthur’s Seat, a rocky escarpment near Holyrood Palace. On the way back to our hotel we passed a large hostel where servicemen could stay on leave. Smiler suggested we go in for a free cup of tea.
“You lads are with the Royal Regiment of Canada?” asked the woman at the front desk. “I think I’ve got a message for you.” We gave each other puzzled looks until then she came back with a telegram she had posted on the bulletin board. It stated that all men of the Canadian 2nd Division were ordered to return to camp immediately.
We all groaned and glared accusingly at Smiler. Our plans for the evening had been to go out and meet some Edinburgh lassies. Instead we found ourselves waiting on the train platform for the next train south. We wondered what was up. Could it just be another manoeuvre? There wasn’t likely to be another operation like Rutter anytime soon. The aborted raid on Dieppe had been blabbed about all over the British Isles by now, so the enemy would certainly be aware of it.
We didn’t arrive in camp until noon the next day, the 17th of August. Lieutenant Whitman told us that we were leaving tomorrow on another big manoeuvre. So once again we began preparing our weapons and ammunition. The much-hated Sten guns had been in storage since Rutter and were covered in black grease, so all the parts had to be cleaned and reassembled. The trucks came for us after lunch the next day and we loaded all our gear on board. Once we were inside, something different happened. The khaki tarpaulins were lowered and tied down over the backs of each truck so no one could see us. It made for a rather hot and gloomy ride. But within an hour I could smell the sea. Were we going back to the Isle of Wight, I wondered.
When our truck stopped and the tarp was opened I saw that we were in Portsmouth harbour. Then I spotted the same cross-channel ferries in the harbour. It looked like they had assault landing craft on board. We were marched towards one of them, the Princess Astrid — the same ship we had been on when the bomb hit. Clearly they had managed to repair the damage to her decks. As we boarded, an English sailor said, “You know where, we’re headed? It’s Dieppe! Dieppe!”
Thinking he was joking, I smiled and replied, “Nope, that was last time!”
On board, however, everyone was talking about us going back to Dieppe.
I said to Mackie, “Is this for real? Won’t the Germans know we’re coming?”
“Maybe they figure Dieppe is the last place we’d attack,” he replied.
“Yeah, right,” I said skeptically.
Looking over the railing at all the activity in the harbour, I caught sight of the masts and rigging of HMS Victory, the old wooden flagship of Admiral Nelson. The Victory had been kept in Portsmouth harbour as a memorial to Nelson, who had died on board it during the Battle of Trafalgar over a hundred and thirty years ago. I thought back to the statue of Nelson atop the monument in Trafalgar Square, hoping for Nelson’s luck and victory once again.
After a meal of some stew and bread, we were given a briefing about Operation Jubilee — the new name for the remounted Dieppe raid. This time there was no whooping and cheering from us. Everyone just seemed grimly determined to get on with the job and get it over with. The plans seemed the same as last time except that British commandos, instead of paratroopers, were going to take out the big guns to the east and west of Dieppe. At least we wouldn’t have any more delays waiting for the winds to be right. With maps and aerial photographs, Lt-Colonel Catto went over the plans for our landing on Blue Beach below the village of Puys. We were told we wouldn’t need our gas masks and that carrying water bottles would be optional, as we would only be in France for a few hours.
Everyone seemed calm, almost as if we were on another manoeuvre. We were told that pens and paper were available so we could write a letter home, and that we should note at the top: To be mailed only if I fail to return. I decided to write to my mother and I realized, while doing so, that it could be my last letter. Only then did the reality of what we were about to do begin to sink in.
TO BE MAILED ONLY IF I FAIL TO RETURN
Mrs. Angus Morrison
64 Hiawatha Road
Toronto, Ontario
August 18, 1942
Dear Mum,
I am writing this on board the troop carrier Princess Astrid. We are finally going to see some action and are heading for Dieppe, a German-held port on the French coast. There are hundreds of ships taking part in this operation. Everyone is calm and we have trained hard for this for weeks.
You will likely have read about the raid in the newspapers by the time you get this letter. If I’ve been taken prisoner, I don’t want you to worry. We’ve been carefully trained on what to do as prisoners of war. It will be boring, but the war won’t last forever.
If you’re reading this letter because I haven’t made it, then there are a few things I’d like you to know. I want to say I’m sorry that I upset you by joining up without telling you first. I’ve thought many times about your saying to me, “You’re not the army type.” Well, you know me better than anyone, and you’re right, I’m not the army type. I don’t like all the shouting and the endless drills and always being told what to do.
But I want you and Elspeth and Doreen to know that I don’t regret any of it. The last two years in England have been just a great experience for me. I’ve seen places that I might only have read about — the Tower of London, Edinburgh Castle, Stonehenge and the Isle of Wight. I feel that I’ve been part of an important time in the history of the world. I’ve met unforgettable people here in England and made many good friends. There’s nothing like army training to make you trust and depend on your buddies.
I know you blame Mackie for getting me into this, but he has been the best of friends to me, helping me with everything. Tell his mum that he is one of the most admired and popular soldiers in our battalion.
Finally, I want to thank you for being such a good, loving mother to me and the girls. I know in our family we don’t often say these things. It’s not the Scottish way. But I couldn’t have asked for a better mother. I think of you every day and will love you always.
God Bless You.
All my love to Elspeth and Doreen.
Your loving son,
Alistair Morrison B67757
‘B’ Company
Royal Regiment of Canada