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Seventy-five years ago, as the main Canadian assault force fought its way onto the beaches of Dieppe under blistering German machine gunfire, a determined chaplain was with them.
For months after the ill-fated raid, the unnamed chaplain was known only as “Padre X.”
Canadian soldiers who survived the fiasco told stories about the mysterious padre’s courage that day: how he delivered first-aid and morphine to dozens of injured soldiers; how he repeatedly exposed himself to heavy fire to bring wounded men to the aid station; how he carried others to landing craft for evacuation; and ultimately, how he gave up his place on the last departing boat to wade ashore and be taken prisoner alongside 1,945 other Canadians.
Eventually, the country would learn that Padre X was Rev. John Weir Foote, a Presbyterian minister from Eastern Ontario.
He would become the first and only Canadian chaplain ever awarded the Victoria Cross, the country’s highest honour.
“You can’t be a padre and not go where the troops go — that’s all I did,” he told reporters in Ottawa in February 1946 when he learned that he had won the Victoria Cross. “When I went in with the regiment and stayed with the men, there was nothing else I could have done. And it was no more than the medical officers did.”
Foote was one of 16 Canadian soldiers to win the British Commonwealth’s premier award for military valour during the Second World War. Three Victoria Crosses were awarded at Dieppe where 913 Canadian soldiers died in a disastrous attempt to seize the German-occupied port town.
Foote always downplayed his heroics and did not like to speak about what happened on the beaches of Dieppe. Saturday marks the raid’s 75th anniversary — Canada’s bloodiest day of the war.
The strategic value of that sacrifice remains the subject of controversy.
Some historians contend Dieppe’s hard lessons in 1942 informed the success of the Normandy landings two years later, while others argue that its tactical blunders were so obvious that they offered little guidance to D-Day planners.
“There’s no consensus that says vital lessons were learned at Dieppe,” says Jeff Noakes, a Second World War historian at the Canadian War Museum. “Seventy five years later, it continues to be debated and it’s probably going to be debated 75 years from now as well.”
The Dieppe raid, codenamed Jubilee, was conceived as a small dress rehearsal for a larger amphibious invasion. The Allies wanted to invade the French resort town, hold it for about 12 hours and then withdraw.
At the time, France, Holland, Belgium, Poland, Denmark, Norway and Yugoslavia were under Nazi occupation, and in Russia, advancing German forces were about to lay siege to Stalingrad. Allied leaders were under intense pressure from Soviet leader Joseph Stalin to open a western front to relieve the pressure on his besieged country.
The Allies had to ensure Stalin did not sue for peace with the Germans, and the Dieppe Raid was part of a makeshift strategy to placate the Russian leader and keep the Red Army in the war.
Rev. John Weir Foote, 38, was one of 5,000 Canadian soldiers caught up in those events.
Foote, an honorary captain attached to the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry (RHLI), had joined the Canadian Chaplain Service three months after the war’s outbreak in September 1939. He was sent overseas with the regiment in June 1940.
He was tall and rugged for a minister, having worked in an iron ore smelter, on a geological survey and as a Prairie farm labourer. “They were extraordinarily good preparation for the ministry,” Foote said.
He joined the ministry at the age of 30 after graduating from The Presbyterian College in Montreal. The church had been part of his life since he was a boy growing up in Madoc, north of Belleville, where he played the organ in St. Peter’s Presbyterian.
Troops of the Cameron Highlanders of Canada in landing craft prior to the raid on Dieppe. Of the 4,963 Canadians who embarked from England for the operation, only 2,210 returned, and many of these were wounded. (National Archives of Canada)
In England, Foote somehow learned that his regiment’s training exercises were not part of the usual routine. He approached his commanding officer, Lt.-Col. Robert Labatt, and asked to accompany the troops on their still secret mission.
Labatt tried to dissuade him but Foote, he said, insisted, arguing, “The best you can do is arrest me afterwards, so you might just as well make use of me.”
Labatt made Foote a stretcher-bearer. He would have an appalling amount of work.
Early on the morning of Aug. 19, 1942, the Dieppe-bound convoy ran into some German patrol ships, which alerted coastal defence units. It meant the raid’s element of surprise — the entire battle plan depended on it — had already been lost as Foote joined the frontal assault on the port at 5:40 a.m.
The invasion force did not have sufficient air or naval support to overcome the withering machine gun and mortar fire from hidden positions on the surrounding cliffs. To make matters worse, many of the tanks that were supposed to provide cover and support became bogged down on Dieppe’s rocky beaches, and were easy targets for German guns.
Communications broke down early and reinforcement units poured onto the beach, complicating the withdrawal and compounding the disaster.
(Weeks after the raid, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill told the British House of Commons that the failed mission was “an indispensable preliminary to full-scale operations,” but in private he demanded to know why anyone would launch a frontal attack on a fortified town without first securing the cliffs on either side.)
Through eight hours of the unfolding nightmare, Foote worked tirelessly to bring aid to the wounded and carry them to safety.
The official citation for his Victoria Cross reads: “On these occasions, with utter disregard for his personal safety, Honorary Captain Foote exposed himself to an inferno of fire and saved many lives by his gallant efforts … On several occasions this officer had the opportunity to embark but returned to the beach as his chief concern was the care and evacuation of the wounded. He refused a final opportunity to leave the shore, choosing to suffer the fate of the men he had ministered to over three years.”
Foote would spend the next 34 months in German POW camps, where he ministered to thousands of Allied prisoners. He was liberated by the British from Stalag 10B, near Bremen, in April 1945.
After the war, Foote became a chaplain at Camp Borden before winning a seat in the Ontario Legislature as the Progressive Conservative member for Durham in 1948. He spent seven years in the cabinet of Premier Leslie Frost until heart problems forced him to leave politics in 1959.
Foote retired to Cobourg with his wife, Edith, and became a columnist for several local papers while enjoying golf, gardening, fishing and music. He died on May 2, 1988 and was buried with full military honours.
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For months after the ill-fated raid, the unnamed chaplain was known only as “Padre X.”
Canadian soldiers who survived the fiasco told stories about the mysterious padre’s courage that day: how he delivered first-aid and morphine to dozens of injured soldiers; how he repeatedly exposed himself to heavy fire to bring wounded men to the aid station; how he carried others to landing craft for evacuation; and ultimately, how he gave up his place on the last departing boat to wade ashore and be taken prisoner alongside 1,945 other Canadians.
Eventually, the country would learn that Padre X was Rev. John Weir Foote, a Presbyterian minister from Eastern Ontario.
He would become the first and only Canadian chaplain ever awarded the Victoria Cross, the country’s highest honour.
“You can’t be a padre and not go where the troops go — that’s all I did,” he told reporters in Ottawa in February 1946 when he learned that he had won the Victoria Cross. “When I went in with the regiment and stayed with the men, there was nothing else I could have done. And it was no more than the medical officers did.”
Foote was one of 16 Canadian soldiers to win the British Commonwealth’s premier award for military valour during the Second World War. Three Victoria Crosses were awarded at Dieppe where 913 Canadian soldiers died in a disastrous attempt to seize the German-occupied port town.
Foote always downplayed his heroics and did not like to speak about what happened on the beaches of Dieppe. Saturday marks the raid’s 75th anniversary — Canada’s bloodiest day of the war.
The strategic value of that sacrifice remains the subject of controversy.
Some historians contend Dieppe’s hard lessons in 1942 informed the success of the Normandy landings two years later, while others argue that its tactical blunders were so obvious that they offered little guidance to D-Day planners.
“There’s no consensus that says vital lessons were learned at Dieppe,” says Jeff Noakes, a Second World War historian at the Canadian War Museum. “Seventy five years later, it continues to be debated and it’s probably going to be debated 75 years from now as well.”
The Dieppe raid, codenamed Jubilee, was conceived as a small dress rehearsal for a larger amphibious invasion. The Allies wanted to invade the French resort town, hold it for about 12 hours and then withdraw.
At the time, France, Holland, Belgium, Poland, Denmark, Norway and Yugoslavia were under Nazi occupation, and in Russia, advancing German forces were about to lay siege to Stalingrad. Allied leaders were under intense pressure from Soviet leader Joseph Stalin to open a western front to relieve the pressure on his besieged country.
The Allies had to ensure Stalin did not sue for peace with the Germans, and the Dieppe Raid was part of a makeshift strategy to placate the Russian leader and keep the Red Army in the war.
Rev. John Weir Foote, 38, was one of 5,000 Canadian soldiers caught up in those events.
Foote, an honorary captain attached to the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry (RHLI), had joined the Canadian Chaplain Service three months after the war’s outbreak in September 1939. He was sent overseas with the regiment in June 1940.
He was tall and rugged for a minister, having worked in an iron ore smelter, on a geological survey and as a Prairie farm labourer. “They were extraordinarily good preparation for the ministry,” Foote said.
He joined the ministry at the age of 30 after graduating from The Presbyterian College in Montreal. The church had been part of his life since he was a boy growing up in Madoc, north of Belleville, where he played the organ in St. Peter’s Presbyterian.
Troops of the Cameron Highlanders of Canada in landing craft prior to the raid on Dieppe. Of the 4,963 Canadians who embarked from England for the operation, only 2,210 returned, and many of these were wounded. (National Archives of Canada)
In England, Foote somehow learned that his regiment’s training exercises were not part of the usual routine. He approached his commanding officer, Lt.-Col. Robert Labatt, and asked to accompany the troops on their still secret mission.
Labatt tried to dissuade him but Foote, he said, insisted, arguing, “The best you can do is arrest me afterwards, so you might just as well make use of me.”
Labatt made Foote a stretcher-bearer. He would have an appalling amount of work.
Early on the morning of Aug. 19, 1942, the Dieppe-bound convoy ran into some German patrol ships, which alerted coastal defence units. It meant the raid’s element of surprise — the entire battle plan depended on it — had already been lost as Foote joined the frontal assault on the port at 5:40 a.m.
The invasion force did not have sufficient air or naval support to overcome the withering machine gun and mortar fire from hidden positions on the surrounding cliffs. To make matters worse, many of the tanks that were supposed to provide cover and support became bogged down on Dieppe’s rocky beaches, and were easy targets for German guns.
Communications broke down early and reinforcement units poured onto the beach, complicating the withdrawal and compounding the disaster.
(Weeks after the raid, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill told the British House of Commons that the failed mission was “an indispensable preliminary to full-scale operations,” but in private he demanded to know why anyone would launch a frontal attack on a fortified town without first securing the cliffs on either side.)
Through eight hours of the unfolding nightmare, Foote worked tirelessly to bring aid to the wounded and carry them to safety.
The official citation for his Victoria Cross reads: “On these occasions, with utter disregard for his personal safety, Honorary Captain Foote exposed himself to an inferno of fire and saved many lives by his gallant efforts … On several occasions this officer had the opportunity to embark but returned to the beach as his chief concern was the care and evacuation of the wounded. He refused a final opportunity to leave the shore, choosing to suffer the fate of the men he had ministered to over three years.”
Foote would spend the next 34 months in German POW camps, where he ministered to thousands of Allied prisoners. He was liberated by the British from Stalag 10B, near Bremen, in April 1945.
After the war, Foote became a chaplain at Camp Borden before winning a seat in the Ontario Legislature as the Progressive Conservative member for Durham in 1948. He spent seven years in the cabinet of Premier Leslie Frost until heart problems forced him to leave politics in 1959.
Foote retired to Cobourg with his wife, Edith, and became a columnist for several local papers while enjoying golf, gardening, fishing and music. He died on May 2, 1988 and was buried with full military honours.
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