“HE’S here - I’ve found him!”

It became a familiar cry as a determined group of people made their way around a series of windswept cemeteries, clutching maps and poppy crosses. It didn’t matter that the rain had turned to sleet, quickly churning the grass into mud. Each of them was there to find the names of Bradford men, to remember them in this month of remembrance.

Last weekend I accompanied Bradford World War One Group to Somme battlefield sites in northern France, to pay tribute to men from the district who lost their lives there. A hundred years on from the end of the battle, one of the worst in history, it felt particularly poignant to be there. The focus of our trip was to unveil the new Bradford Pals Memorial, funded by the Telegraph &Argus’s Honour the Pals appeal and Bradford Council.

As reported in Monday’s T&A, the memorial stone stands in the grounds of a little chapel on the Serre Road, where so many Bradford men lost their lives. The rain had ceased by the time we entered the chapel for a short service. Pews quickly filled with local people, others crowding in at the back, all paying tribute to British soldiers who died on fields that claimed French lives too.

I noticed a shaft of sunlight through a corner window. Suddenly that little chapel, perched on the edge of a quiet field, felt a special place to be. The sun was still shining when we filed outside for a dedication by the Lord Mayor of Bradford and the Mayor of Hebuterne, who has worked with the WW1 Group on getting the memorial stone installed. Standard bearers from neighbouring villages, all French military veterans, led the procession. At a reception afterwards in a nearby village hall, one of them said: “It meant so much to be here today.” A century after that terrible war, it is still felt strongly in neighbourhoods in this region.

Most have at least one war cemetery, and we visited several on the trip. They included Vieille Chapelle, final resting place for two Pals shot by a British firing squad after they fell asleep in a cornfield and missed their battalion’s march to the front line. I was very moved as WW1 Group members placed a poppy cross and a white rose in front of each grave.

Everyone had lists of names to search for; some their own relatives, others for research projects. Helping them search for names, I was struck by their determination. When we found names on gravestones or panels, there was a sense of connection; we didn’t known these men, who died in the mud so long ago, but it felt as though we were visiting them.

“I’ve got two boys here,” said Nick Hooper, retired Bradford Grammar School head of history, jumping off the bus at Couin cemetery, to place poppy crosses on the graves of former pupils. “Found them! I can’t tell you how much that means to me,” said Chris Power, who trekked through Hooge Crater cemetery in lashing rain to find the graves of British West Indies Regiment soldiers he’s researching.

Towards the end of our trip we visited a German war cemetery, which was quite different to the British and French cemeteries we’d seen. More than 44,000 men are buried at Neuville St Vaast. Wind whistled across the bleak site, covered in rows of simple grey crosses marking graves where several men lie buried together. Far removed from the Portland stone of places like the Arras Memorial, with its temple-like arches and pillars.

It was a stark reminder of the scale of loss of that war. Regardless of nationality, all those who never came home were somebody's son.