WW2 soldier's son bids final farewell at Normandy funeral

Peter Blyth at the grave of his father Guardsman David Blyth

Guardsman David Blyth, 25, a British tank driver with a wife and young son waiting for him at home, was posted as missing in action during World War Two.

Earlier this month, Peter Blyth, 82, was told remains found in Normandy were those of his father after DNA analysis.

On Tuesday, Mr Blyth laid his father to rest in France.

Peter Blyth walks up to his father's freshly-engraved white headstone and whispers, "Rest in peace, Dad".

Guardsman David Blyth, married with a three-year-old son, was posted as missing in action on 4 August 1944. His son, from East Yorkshire, has spent a lifetime searching for answers.

Now he has them.

Mr Blyth at his father's grave

"I now have a place to come and pay homage," Mr Blyth says as the crowds peel away from St Charles De Percy War Cemetery, south of Caen, where 797 warriors lie, shaded by hedgerows and apple trees.

"It's strange, after all this time, seeing my father's name on a headstone," Mr Blyth says. "I've always felt close to my dad, now though I feel ever closer."

Guardsman Blyth and four others in a Sherman tank were killed when a German Panther tank attacked. Tank debris, along with human remains, were discovered by a farmer ploughing a field near La Marvindière in 2015.

The Ministry of Defence's Joint Casualty and Compassionate Centre informed Mr Blyth two weeks ago some of the remains were those of his father.

Mr Blyth, from Aldbrough near Hornsea, who himself joined the Army, rising through the ranks to retire a major, has always maintained the "stiff upper lip" - a symptom, he suspects, of a traumatic start to life and conditioning forged from a life of service.

But on this overcast morning, in a corner of France forever indebted to the sacrifices of men like Guardsman Blyth, this octogenarian, wearing his medals on his left chest and his father's on the right, is a son mourning the loss of his father.

"I'm grieving for the life that my father missed out on," he says. "The life with my mother and I he was robbed of."

Mr Blyth reads letters sent from his father to his mother during World War Two

Mr Blyth, wearing a button from his father's dress uniform on his own blazer, tells of his only memory of his father. It is possibly his earliest recollection.

"I remember him being home on leave," he says. "As children do, I ran towards him and climbed up him. Like most Guardsmen, I remember him as a very tall man. He was wearing battle dress."

Mr Blyth retrieves from his pocket a locket; the same locket his mother, Mary, is seen wearing in the only surviving photograph of him with his parents. Inside is a photograph of Guardsman Blyth. A smiling soldier forever young.

Mr Blyth with his mother Mary's locket containing a picture of his father (top image). She died in 1988, aged 68, without ever learning what happened to her husband

"My life would have been very different if he had lived," Mr Blyth reflects, scanning the rows of white headstones before fixing his gaze on his father's. "I probably wouldn't have joined the Army. I wanted to follow him."

Earlier, with a steady voice, tuned from his own 45-year Army career, he read to the funeral, well-attended by French locals, extracts from two letters sent from his father to his mother. They tell of attempts from a young man to comfort his wife as the world around them erupted.

Mr Blyth was informed earlier this month remains found in Normandy were those of his father

"My Darling Mary," the letter begins. "I want to thank you for the wonderful parcel you sent me, it gave me a good surprise. The pipe is very good and smokes OK, you must have had a busy time trying to find one and the pouch from Peter. Everything arrived in one piece. I haven't touched the large cakes yet; they look very good.

"I shall have to say once more, thanks Darling for help making mine a happy Xmas. God Bless, All my love & kisses Darling Yours always David."

Mr Blyth saluted as a lone bugler played The Last Post. He placed a poppy wreath on his father's grave before tenderly resting a hand on the headstone.

"Nulli secundus," he uttered - Latin for "second to none" - the motto of his father's unit The Coldstream Guards.

The Rev Martin Robbins, chaplain to 1st Battalion The Coldstream Guards, told the congregation it was hard to fathom, today, "what life must have been like" for Guardsman Blyth and others who fought among the dense hedgerows of Normandy.

"The sound of war would have shattered the peace and tranquillity of this rural life," he said. "It's here that the story of sacrifice was told."

Many of those buried at St Charles de Percy have never been identified

St Charles de Percy War Cemetery south of Caen, Normandy

Immediately after Guardsman Blyth's funeral, a second service was held for his crewmate, Guardsman William Bayliss, 22, from Rugby, Warwickshire, whose remains were also recently identified. Members of his family also attended.

Mr Robbins said the story of these young men who fought and died for freedom "can sometimes be lost in the sheer scale of the Normandy campaign", but he added our way of life has only been made possible thanks to their efforts.

Guardsman David Blyth and his wife Mary on their wedding day

Guardsman David Blyth with wife Mary and their son Peter

Serving solider Guardsman Ryan Joy, 22, of The Coldstream Guards, chosen to read short Bible extracts at both funerals, said afterwards: "It's an honour to be here today. This generation of soldiers looks up to those men."

Turning to thank Guardsman Joy and others who took part in the service, Mr Blyth tells them: "I expect my dad would have been tickled pink by all this. He'd have probably said, 'What? All this for me?'"