Role of Edward Packe in World War II
by Celia Dibblee (née Packe)
 London 1943: Going to the wedding of a reconnaissance pilot: Claudia ("Bob") and Edward Packe, and their daughter, Celia. Edward Packe is wearing the uniform of the 52nd, with his wings on the breast. (The 52nd wear 'gorget cords' on their collars and they are plainly visible in the photograph.) |
His earlier experiences must have been a tremendous help in the job he was to do for the rest of that second war. Aerial Photography was becoming increasingly important in modern warfare. Cameras had become much more sophisticated and pilots were now trained to be very skilful in using them. The instructions were, as they had been in the first war, to fly over enemy territory and to observe and photograph German airfields, troops, guns, tanks, landing craft, ships and all the other chess pieces of war. Then, on return to their own airfield, the immediate priority for the pilots was to be interviewed and de-briefed by the A.I.L.O. before the memory of their recent experiences started to fade.
The planes for No. 4 Squadron were Lysanders, old fashioned and heavy. Because of their slow speed they were considered suitable for reconnaissance and photography, but they were very vulnerable to enemy planes and anti-aircraft fire. No. 4 was the last R.A.F. Squadron to leave France at the retreat from Dunkirk.
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The Intelligence Section of No. 4 Squadron was a team of six, two officers and four other ranks. They became an independant and closely bonded group, known affectionately by the Squadron as "The Brown Jobs". There is no doubt that my father was very popular with the young pilots. Far from being a father figure, they looked on him as an endearing and rather zany elder brother. He once said that a relationship of that sort was absolutely essential in the gruelling job he was doing. These young pilots might return from their flights completely exhausted after a difficult and dangerous time. Their planes might be damaged, their fellow pilots killed or wounded and they themselves utterly demoralised and yet they had to be forced into remembering even the smallest detail of their flight, which might be of vital importance. So my father joined them in all the wild parties, sing-songs and dances in the Mess at night and by day organised childish games with a drainpipe, a tennis ball and a 'thunder flash'; or French Cricket, Rounders or practical jokes, anything he could think of to get those tense young men to unwind and relax. Once, when no one in authority was looking, they persuaded him to take up a Lysander, and were delighted when he landed it in three great bounces right across the airfield. They all pretended to look very shocked when, rather white faced, he walked into the Mess, And then they cheered him loudly and stood him a double whisky.
But his main task, which took on a greater and greater importance, was to interpret the photographs the pilots had taken, This was a meticulous job, scrutinising each print with a magnifying glass under a bright lamp, and all the time asking himself questions, "Is that really a farm building, it seems to have a very substantial road leading to it? Are those trees real, or are they very goad camouflage? Are those genuine haystacks in that field or are they models? Why has that very large roofed building been situated in such a remote area? Are those men really farm workers or are they doing something quite different?" And so on, and so on. *
As the war developed, the job of Intelligence became increasingly vital in anticipating future German actions. Secret information was slowly building up of sinister new weapons that would be used against the already much bombed civilian population of Britain. Air Intelligence was instructed from above on the need for a different approach to reconnaissance in order to discover more about this terrifying threat.
Hitler's scientists had perfected two secret weapons to be fired directly at Britain from underground bunkers hidden deep in the soil of France, Belgium and the Netherlands, Slowly information built up about the vast capabilities of these terrible weapons. One was a pilotless plane, little more than a small petrol engine with wings, sitting on top of a huge bomb. It was known as the V 1. The other was a colossal bomb driven by rocket propulsion, which could reach anywhere in Britain. This was the V 2. Both weapons could be fairly accurately targetted and were to be directed at large cities, particularly London. They were both used.
After Dunkirk, my father spent the rest of the war on various airfields in England. To his great disappointment there was to be no overseas posting for him after the Invasion of France on D-Day. The end of the war finally came when be was serving at an R.A.F. Station in Essex, that familiar county of his birth and childhood, and where he had first enlisted as a private soldier thirty-one years before.
* Additional note from Celia's daughter, Jo Edkins, who put up this website: My mother told me once about her father showing her a photo taken on one of these flights. It looked quite normal, but he pointed out that there was a line in the middle of the road travelling acorss the photo. In one place, the line disappeared, then reappeared. This showed where they are camouflaged something. They had drawn the road on the camouflage but forgotten the line in the middle of the road!