Montague Street in the town of HARTLEPOOL

My grandfather and step-grandmother lived in an upstairs flat at the end of Montague Street, the opposite side to number 15, before WWII. At four years of age, in 1938, I was called to get up, dressed, had a mouthful to eat, told I was going to see something exciting, and an aunt took me to the promenade overlooking the sea where a small crowd had gathered, and a man called out, 'Let the bairn go to the front near the railings, but watch her, no falling, mind!' Another man said, 'Here it comes', and I saw an airship flying about 50 yards out to sea parallel to the land. 'No, that's ours, another man said. Here's the German.' And following several hundred yards behind came another, a bit different to look at. One of them had a blue tinge about it but I forget which. I had this image in my mind for decades, even writing to the Hartlepool newspaper office for further information, but they couldn't help me.

About twelve years or so ago I happened to see a film about the Hindenburg airship disaster, caused by burning hydrogen, and I hit on the idea of writing to Germany to find out more about what I believed I had seen. I did. The German Airship, the name of which escapes me just now, in their letter to me, which I appear to have mislaid, confirmed that this was the sister ship of the Hindenburg, and was flying up the north-east coast to identify where our radar installations were situated. Our airship, escorting it, was making quite sure it returned home.

The writer also told me that I should feel privileged to have been part of history, because its flight received no publicity. On its return home, and maybe, I suppose, because it too was filled with hydrogen, it was broken up (and melted down?) to be re-used in the manufacture of German aeroplanes.