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France Honors WWII Akron Hero
A reflection by Kelly Hynes O’Neill, grand-niece of Richard T. Lynch
5 June 2007
“The French hate Americans!” Such sentiments are common if media reports and trans-Atlantic political acrimony is to be believed. But there is a hidden dimension to Franco-American relations that is beyond friendship and more akin to family. The WWII generation in both countries share a bond forged in a struggle against a ruthless and determined enemy of freedom.
My great uncle, U.S. Army Air Force Flight Officer Richard T. Lynch, was only 22 years old when he was shot down in the early morning hours of July 18, 1944, on the coast of Bricqueville-sur-Mer. He had completed a night photo reconnaissance mission and was returning to Chalgrove, England. Regretfully, there were no survivors among the 3-man crew. Nearly 63 years later, we found ourselves just 7 hours by car to Uncle Dick’s final resting place at Brittany American Cemetery in St. James, France. My husband had been recalled to active duty with the Navy to serve for a year in Germany and we were determined to make the journey to honor Uncle Dick’s sacrifice during his tour of duty. We could never have imagined the adventure that was about to begin.
Since my father, Patrick Hynes, was Uncle Dick’s nephew, we wanted to make sure that he joined us for the trip to Normandy. His late mother, Alice Lynch Hynes, was especially close to her brother, “Dickie”. We decided to retain the services of a professional tour guide and local expert for an entire day. Uncle Dick’s part of the Normandy story was far removed from the famous beaches at Omaha and Utah, so we needed someone with the “lay of the land” to help us find the locations of the tragic, yet inspiring story of Uncle Dick’s last day.
After completing research on various tour companies in January, we booked Overlord Tours managed by Alain Chesnel. Alain took an immediate interest in the personal aspects of our visit and agreed to take us to the cemetery at St. James and other sites in the area; however, he didn’t stop there.
Using Army records we provided him, Alain leveraged his network of extensive contacts throughout Normandy to launch a massive investigation into the details of Uncle Dick’s time in Normandy. He phoned the city hall at Regneville sur Mer, a small coastal town where Uncle Dick’s body was recovered and buried two weeks after the crash. The city clerk advised him to contact M. Georges Esnol, President of a local historic preservation association, who may be able to help. Georges possessed a rare postcard photo of the original interment ceremony at Regneville. (Uncle Dick’s remains were removed from Regneville cemetery in 1948 and re-interred in the American cemetery 42 miles south in St. James.) Georges expressed that he always had an interest in learning more about the American airman and searched for his identity for many years. Georges worked with his daughter Patricia and Patrick Fissot, a local history teacher and regional expert on WWII in Normandy, to continue the research and begin plans for a memorial service. Alain told us in late February that, “We are planning a small ceremony in your honor,” but nothing could have prepared us for what was to come.
 At 8:30 a.m. on June 5th, Alain pulled up in his van and we set off for Brittany American Cemetery in St. James, about an hour and a half south of the 16th century Chateau where we stayed near St. Marie Eglise, of The Longest Day fame. It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies and sunshine. As we pulled up to the Cemetery, we were greeted by the Assistant Superintendent, Mr. Alan Amelickx, Georges, and Robert, his neighbor/translator. We were carefully escorted to the grave (See photo
Patrick Hynes, Kelly Hynes O'Neill and son) where my father was treated with the courtesy accorded the next-of-kin. (As Uncle Dick was unmarried and left no children, the only living member of his immediate family is his older sister, Mary Hengle, who at 92 was too frail to make the trip).
Mr. Amelickx brought an American flag, sand from the beaches of Normandy, and a small pail of water to the grave. To make the letters stand out, he knelt down and applied the sand to the engraved portions of the pristine marble cross. When he finished filling all the characters with sand, he wiped away the excess to reveal a perfect monument to our honored relative. He placed Old Glory into the ground in front of the cross and asked if we would like “Taps” to be played. Everyone but the family then excused themselves while encouraging us to remain as long as we wished. We cried and said a Hail Mary. It was the culmination of so many months of planning and the first visit by a family member to his tomb in 63 years. The Carillon of the chapel quietly chimed a number of patriotic melodies which was carried on the soft, warm breeze. 
The cemetery was humming with activity that morning with a half dozen gardeners working to maintain the Eden-like setting.  Every blade of grass perfectly trimmed and every flower in full bloom. After a short while, we composed ourselves, took several photos, and visited the graves of the other two airmen who perished with Uncle Dick. I found it difficult to walk away from Dick’s grave. I didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone, but I was comforted by the knowledge that all three men rest together in such an immaculately cared-for preserve befitting their heroic lives. We also spent a while in the chapel reading the inscriptions from Scripture carved in stone and enjoying commentary from Mr. Amelickx about the history of the cemetery. It was with regret that our time at St. James came to a close, but the day was only beginning.
Following lunch, we journeyed to Bricqueville-sur-Mer.  Upon arrival, we crossed a salt marsh via a “route submersible” which was not underwater at that time, and drove onto the sandy Atlantic coastline. We got out and felt the strong sea breeze. Georges proceeded to explain that this area, known as the Becquet Rock, is where the plane was shot down. A short distance away, there was a shallow area of water. This marked the precise location of the fallen flight. The shoreline in this area experiences nearly 45 foot tidal variances depending on the time of year. In other words, the shallow water we observed was actually exposed sandy beach at the time Dick’s flight crashed. Next, Georges pointed to a small peninsula. That was Granville; the site of the German guns that fired the fatal shot. Alain said that later this year, when the tides are low, he plans to return with his metal detector to search for debris.
With that, we returned to the car and drove a few minutes to a nearby private home. Outside we met the mayor of Bricqueville and his wife who volunteered to video record the remainder of our day! We walked into the home and were surprised to meet a witness to the crash. Amazingly, Alain’s contacts had located 81 year old, Mr. Umfprah, who was 18 years old at the time of the crash. He recalled hearing the sound of the crash in the very same house where we met him, but was unable to go out and investigate due to strict Nazi regulations at the time. His late cousin actually saw the crash but was not permitted to approach either. Mr. Umfprah later collected two pieces of the plane that he has safeguarded for years. He graciously gave them to my father during our visit in a touching display of Franco-American friendship and hospitality. It was an emotional exchange that deeply touched our family. In gratitude for what we thought was the highlight of the day, my husband distributed some small mementos of magnets and buttons with the symbol of the 9th Air Force.
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