Ironically, the raid on Dieppe was not supposed to happen.

Lord Louis Mountbatten, the newly appointed British head of Combined Operations, came up with a plan to launch a large-scale raid -- dubbed Operation Rutter -- on Dieppe in July 1942. The mission was designed to be a test run for an amphibious invasion that would one day defeat Germany. There was new equipment to be tested and years of training to be put to use. By May 20, troops were in standby mode on the Isle of Wright in the English Channel, but poor weather in July prevented the launching of the attacks.

Many Essex Scottish soldiers, including Harold Scharfe, believed the raid was abandoned for good. To their surprise, it was suddenly revived in August and given a new name -- Operation Jubilee.

"I was shocked when they told us we were going ahead with it," Scharfe recalled recently. "The element of surprise was lost by then and we had damaged ships. But we went ahead anyway, because we were trained and eager and ready for battle."

The troops were not aware that Mountbatten resurrected the raid without the approval of the Allied chiefs of staff.

As Canadian vessels approached the beaches of Dieppe overnight, a German convoy travelling from Boulogne spotted them. Although radar stations on the English coast picked up the "unidentified vessels," the warnings were never acknowledged by the naval commander and the ships continued. Five German ships came upon several landing craft, alerting the enemy and jeopardizing the main assault landing.

Operation Jubilee went down in history as one of Canada's biggest military disasters. Once the smoke cleared, officials were able to identify a number of flaws that led to the destruction of two-thirds of the Canadian forces. Intelligence provided to the Allied troops was poor, and senior officers were not updated on the raid's progress in time to prevent disaster. Mountbatten faced heavy criticism for giving unauthorized orders at Dieppe and leading soldiers to their death.

Some surviving participants still lament the lack of naval and air protection as they fought the enemy on wide-open shores.

"We were left to our own devices," said Robert Large, a former private with the Essex Scottish who was severely injured during the raid and nearly lost his leg. "Not only were (the Germans) pounding us with bullets and bombs, the explosions shattered the rocks on the beach and those were injuring us, too. The sharp rocks became weapons, too."

When the carnage was over, the beaches of Dieppe were littered with bodies and moaning injured soldiers. Back home, Windsorites were unaware of the tragedy until telegrams started pouring in.

"We regret to inform you that your son was killed in the raid on Dieppe," they read, or gave families a glimmer of hope by listing their sons and husbands as missing or prisoners of war.

In the days that followed, casualty lists began appearing in The Windsor Star. It was a sobering jolt of reality. The headline: "The war came grimly to Windsor."

Every household was in mourning, whether it had lost a loved one in the raid or not. The Essex Scottish troops became everyone's boys. Many were outraged that they were sent on the ill-conceived and poorly executed mission.

But a number of surviving veterans have no regrets.

James McArthur, a former corporal, said the disastrous consequences provided valuable lessons that helped pave the way for D-Day success.

Indeed, as Allied planners reviewed the fatal blunders made at Dieppe, they were able to draw up new plans for amphibious landings at Normandy two years later. Intelligence and communications strategies were improved, topographical conditions were studied intensively and the need to develop armoured landing craft that would shield soldiers from small arms fire was recognized.

"You can't call Dieppe a failure, even though we lost so many men," McArthur said. "We did what had to be done and learned from our mistakes. That's the reality of war."