Last night, his descendants paid tribute to his sacrifice at an emotional commemoration to mark the 100th anniversary of the first Battle of Bullecourt, a brutal conflict that ended with more than 3000 soldiers from the Australian Imperial Force killed or taken prisoner.

A second battle three weeks later claimed another 7000 Australian lives.

Geoff and Robyn Gregory, a retired couple from Melbourne, joined about 250 Australians and French citizens to mark both Battles of Bullecourt, with a service at the tiny cross placed on the edge of a field where the Australian fought so bravely against the Germans.

Herbert Dyer, from tiny Lillimur, in western Victoria, was Mr Gregory’s great-uncle on his mother’s side.

“He was in the first wave off the boat in Gallipoli and he was there all the way through and never got a scratch,’’ Mr Gregory, 70, told News Corp.

“He went to Alexandria (in Egypt) for some rest and recreation then he came here.’’

Australian War Memorial records show Mr Dyer, who arrived in France a private, served as a machine-gunner and died a lance corporal. The records show he died in the second battle on May 3, 2017, at the age of 24.

Mr Gregory said there was some confusion with the records and they believed his death occurred in the first battle on April 11.

His body lies in an unmarked grave, along with thousands of his colleagues from four Australian divisions, who, forming part of the British Army’s 5th division, followed orders to attack the Hindenburg line.

They were slaughtered in their thousands when support tanks failed them and they were entangled in barbed wire, and hit by German machinegun fire and shelling.

A total of 1170 Australian soldiers were taken prisoner.

Mrs Gregory, 71, said the couple had visited Bullecourt three times and it was always an emotional experience.

The former mayor of the town, Jules Laude, had helped them place a plaque on the memorial, known as La Petite Croix, or Little Cross, and driven them around the village in his old World War II French Citroen, with two Australian flags flying.

“He (Mr Dyer) also has his name on the wall at Villers Bretonneux and we will be going there for Anzac Day to lay a wreath,’’ she said.

The tiny village of Bullecourt, in northern France near the Belgium border, has maintained close bonds with Australia to honour the sacrifice of those who died defending them.

The local pub is called the Hotel Canberra and has a kangaroo emblem above the door, Rue de Australie (Australian Street) leads out to the memorial, and an emotive statute of an Aussie digger keeps watch over the fields where the Australians fell.

Australia’s Ambassador to France, Stephen Brady, told the group gathered in the fields near Bullecourt that the Australians had faced an “unshielded onslaught, without artillery support, fought with bayonets, grenades, entrenching tools and bare hands.

“In return, thousands of these men were killed and maimed by machinegun spray, rifle fire, exploding shells, shrapnel, bombs and gas,’’ he said.

“We come here today as beneficiaries of the peace those men fought to secure.

“We stand small in comparison, but tall in our thanks for their effort and sacrifice.’’

Frenchman Patrick Laude has attended every Australian commemoration since 2014, and said he saw his role as keeping the Australian sacrifice alive.

“I consider my role to help to transmit the memories,” he said.

David Kendall, of Canberra, came to pay his respects to his grandfather, Edward James Kendall, who was taken prisoner on this day 100 years ago.

He was held for several years in Prussia before making it home in 1920, and lived until his late 70s.

Edward’s son William Laurence Kendall fought in WWII, while his grandson David is a Vietnam veteran.

“I had 30 years in the military and my father did 29 years,’’ he said.

Former Queensland premier and soldier Campbell Newman came to honour his great-uncle Leslie Holmes Mullett, who died in these fields 100 years ago today.

He was killed in the early-morning charge on the German lines and his body still lies in the fields in an unknown grave.

“I can see what they went through,’’ Mr Newman said, looking across the peaceful green fields that 100 years ago were a terrifying slaughterhouse of mud, snow barbed-wire and trenches.

“It’s very moving and very real, I can picture how it must have been.’’