FOR every one of the 4,848 headstones in Bayeux Cemetery, imagine a young man in his late teens, 20s or early 30s - each one somebody's son, father, brother or husband.

As soon as I walk out through the main gates to the cemetery opposite the city's

D-Day museum the sheer loss of life of the thousands of young men killed in their prime hits me.

History books may list the vast number of casualties but it is when you see the perfectly formed horizontal and diagonal rows of white headstones, with narrow flowerbeds running alongside, that the scale of self-sacrifice can be truly understood.

Each grave in this, the largest British military cemetery, is given a row number and plot number.

For those of the 3,935 Britons buried here, there is also an inscription reminding you that these were not just numbers on a

battlefield but men who left grieving relatives behind.

One such inscription reads: "There's always that memory of the son I loved so dear."

Another reads: "Loving, unselfish, true and kind, a beautiful memory left behind."

For those soldiers whose identity remains a mystery, a simple inscription reads: "A soldier of the 1939-1945 war. Known unto God."

Wally Harris, 83, was one of those veterans who made the pilgrimage to the cemetery this week.

A member of the 90th (City of London) Field Regiment Royal Artillery, he was in charge of a Light Aid Detachment section, travelling behind the gun group at Mons en Pevelle.

When an enemy column approached he drove his jeep into an exposed position and despite heavy bombardment, forced the enemy into retreat.

He was awarded a Military Medal for his courage.