With guests including the Prince of Wales, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Theresa May and relatives of those who fought and died in the battle of Passchendaele, the service took place under a baking sun.

“One hundred years ago today the third battle of Ypres began,” Charles had told those assembled as the remembrance service began. “At 10 to four in the morning, less than five miles from here, thousands of men drawn from across Britain, France and the Commonwealth attacked German lines.

“The battle we know today as Passchendaele would last for over 100 days. We remember it not only for the rain that fell, the mud that weighed down the living and swallowed the dead, but also for the courage and bravery of the men who fought here.”

A majority of the 11,961 servicemen buried in Tyne Cot cemetery died in Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig’s 100-day offensive, devised by the commander of the imperial forces on the western front to force the Germans out of the high ground, as he sought to drive through to the Belgian coast.

Tyne Cot was the location for a nest of machine gun posts just below Passchendaele, to the east, but standing above the Belgian town of Ypres, visible a few miles to the west, from where the British came. It was taken, lost, and taken again, costing the lives of thousands of men. The area was given the name Tyne Cot by the Northumberland Fusiliers who said the pill-boxes on which the machine guns were fixed looked from afar like their cottages back home in Tyneside.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and Queen Mathilde of Belgium walk among the Commonwealth war graves at Tyne Cot cemetery. Photograph: Stephanie Lecocq/EPA

Standing at the foot of the Cross of Sacrifice memorial in the centre of the cemetery, built on one of the former machine gun positions, Charles echoed the thoughts of his great grandfather, King George V, on seeing after the war the packed lines of graves at the most populous of the Commonwealth war cemeteries anywhere in the world.

“Thinking of these men, my great grandfather remarked: ‘I have many times asked myself whether there can be more potent advocates of peace upon earth through the years to come, than this massed multitude of silent witnesses to the desolation.’”

The hour-long service, peppered with short tributes to those who had fallen from their relatives, some wearing the uniform of the armed services, heard extracts from diaries, letters and poetry composed on the front line. They included an account by Private Bert Ferns, of the Lancashire Fusiliers, read by Fusilier Shaun Mclorie.

“I staggered up the hill and then dropped over the slope into a sort of gully,” he read. “It was here that I froze and became very frightened because a big shell had just burst and blown a group of lads to bits; there were bits of men all over the place, a terrible sight, men just blown to nothing. I just stood there. It was still and misty, and I could taste their blood in the air.”

A letter from the mother of Ernest Gays, of the Army Cyclist Corps, killed in action aged 19, read: “I thank you for sending us word of how our Dear Ernest died...Did you see my boy after he died, could you tell us how he was? I should like to know what time of day or night it happened (or thereabouts)...I shall never forget you and hope you will write often to me.”

Those assembled also heard from an unknown German officer who had written home on the 20 September 1917. “Dear Mother,” he wrote. “After crawling out through the bleeding remnants of my comrades and the smoke and the debris, and wandering and fleeing in the midst of the raging artillery fire in search of refuge, I am now awaiting death at any moment.”

Irish Guards arrive at Tyne Cot cemetery for the battle of Passchendaele ceremony. Photograph: Stephanie Lecocq/EPA

The Queen of Belgium, Matilde, the Duchess of Cambridge and the German foreign minister, Sigmar Gabriel, laid flowers at the graves of four unknown German soldiers. Prince William, who later admitted to being “teary” the evening before at a show in Ypres market square which had told the story of war on Flanders Fields, laid a wreath to an unknown soldier.

It was then the turn of the Belgian air force. Three F16 jets streamed across the sky, one pointing his nose up at the last to soar away from his colleagues in tribute to the missing. “Drawn from many nations we come together in their resting place”, Charles had said, “to commemorate their sacrifice and to promise that we will never forget”.

‘Kiss them for me: they cannot realise that I shall not see them again’



John Ambrose Barrett, known as Jack to his family, was killed on the first day of the Battle of Passchendaele by a machine gunner in Kitcheners’ woods. He had enlisted in the Oxford and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry in King Lynn in December 1915. His grandson, Tim Barrett, 64, a lawyer from Hardingham, in Norfolk, attending the service at Tyne Cot cemetery, held in his hand a letter Barrett had sent his wife, Evelyn, mother to his four children, six months before he was killed at the age of 36.

A woman among the gravestones at Tyne Cot. Photograph: Joe Giddens/PA

“By the time you get this, I fear that the Boche will have sent something over that has got my name and address on it, and has knocked me out,” the signalman wrote, “and I am writing this letter, as I don’t want to leave you, Evie, without saying goodbye.” The letter went on: “Well dearest, let me say this, that I never knew what happiness was, and how glorious life could be, till you and I got married. And every day and every year you have given me more joy and happiness.

He added: “It was glorious at the beginning, old darling, but it got better and better as time went on, as our kiddies came to us … Kiss them for me: they cannot realise that I shall not see them again, but let them know their Daddy loved them and meant to do his very utmost for them.”

Barrett’s grandson said the family believed he never had the chance to meet his youngest child, Elsie, who was born in March 1917. “We have a letter from him in which he says he hopes the christening went well,” he explained. Barrett’s eldest son, John, who was born in July 1913, had vague recollections. “Sitting on a wooden library chair, is a man in my memory lacing up his boots,” he would tell his relatives of his father, who was said to be well liked by fellow officers.

He was given the nickname “Father Barrett”, as he was older than his fellow soldiers. According to the Rifle Brigade history, Barrett’s 16th Batallion had faced a machine gun “giving a great deal of trouble” on 31 July 1917. The gun was captured but Barrett was one of the two officers killed by it. His grandson said: “I wanted to be here because I think this is likely the last time I will have the chance to commemorate him here in this way.”