April 13, 1918: The School

“So, these are the new recruits?” A tall, mustachioed man was standing in front of the motley crew of canines lined up on the courtyard. The two young soldiers trying to keep the dogs in line nodded.

“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel, they are.”

The tall man smiled and eyed the dogs carefully, one by one. There were six new dogs today, a good enough haul. There were two lurchers – very good – another border collie, and three mutts of undistinguishable heritage; a grey one, a black one, and a white-and-brown one. All six of them looked in good shape and none had any obvious physical defects that might hinder their work. Four of them looked alert and curious, with no signs of fear or worry. The other two seemed anxious and were sticking close to the humans. Well, there were many tryouts yet. The merit of the dogs and their suitability for the field would soon be tested. Lt. Colonel Richardson smiled and patted the closest dog, the white-and-brown one, on the head. “Very good, Lieutenant, very good. Take them to the kennels, give them food and water and let them rest up and settle in. Make sure they are comfortable. They will begin training with the new Third Class on the 18th. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.” the Lieutenant gave a nod and salute, and motioned to his fellow handler to start moving towards the kennels. Keeping six newly arrived dogs in check wasn’t always the easiest job, and it was with some difficulty that they moved across the parade grounds.

The Military Dog Training School at Shoeburyness had grown into a formidable establishment by this time in The Great War. Since Lieutenant Colonel Edwin Hautenville Richardson had started his pioneering dog training programme just a few years ago, the operations had made stunning progress. Last year this new facility had been created at the request of the War Office, who had finally realised the potential in the service of war dogs, and messenger dogs especially. Richardson had campaigned for the use of dogs in The Great War since the very outbreak of the conflict, but convincing the military higher-ups of the benefits had taken a long time, much longer than he had preferred... After all, the Germans had already applied the skills of dogs in their military for many years, and with great success no less. But now, Richardson could finally concentrate on his most important work undisturbed. Donations from dogs’ homes and the public ensured a steady flow of new recruits, and the school’s training regime soon revealed which dogs were suitable to be sent across the channel and which ones were to be returned home. The Lt. Colonel chose his dogs and his Pioneer keepers carefully. The temperaments and the character of both parties were always the most important factors: in this line of work, a pure breed with a pedigree was of little worth if its merits in the field didn’t measure up (and that applied to both man and beast).

Tri looked around, wide-eyed. All around him people and dogs milled about; more humans in khaki uniforms, dogs in all shapes and sizes, and a racket and clutter like he had never seen. The large courtyard known as the parade grounds was teeming with activity. A group of uniformed men carrying guns were marching across, each man flanked by two or more obedient dogs. Another group of men in a corner of the grounds were hanging fresh laundry on wash lines and polishing boots. Some were chatting, some were smoking, and some were talking to the fellows next to them who were polishing big rifles. A horse-drawn carriage was also passing through, followed by another group of men with dogs, and a group of women were filling dog food into a long row of buckets near a small shed. Dog food was what it smelled like, at least. The smells of the place – the smells were intense. So many dogs, people and horses. And there was metal, burning wood, mud, and even the distant scent of the sea. But everything was blanketed in a thick smell of gunpowder and smoke. Tri sneezed. There was a lot to take in at once here; a far cry from his quiet farm. The rattling of gunfire could be heard beyond the buildings, as well as a low rumbling of something that reminded him of thunder, or drums. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before. Bewildered, he continued to follow the two humans chaperoning the newcomers.

They were led to a small wooden building, where a new soldier examined them, wrote something in a book, then picked six sturdy leather collars from a shelf.

“Here you are then.” he said, and the three men proceeded to remove the dogs’ old collars and put on the new ones. Tri couldn’t help but let out a whine as they confiscated his old rope collar. That was the sign that he belonged somewhere – to the master and to Iron Hill farm. Why did they take it? The new collar felt rough, and heavy.
“Hey, it’s all right, boy.” said one of the soldiers and, noticing the dog’s concern, patted Tri on the head. “You’ll grow into it.” He smiled. Tri remained confused, but felt slightly reassured by the touch somehow. Attached to the new collar was a small brass plate engraved with writing – War Dog 258.

“So. Coffee, Bat, Ben, Dina, Tri and Fangs.” The book-keeping soldier looked at his papers. “Why don’t you take them to Section 4? It’s nice and calm there right now. Sort of.”

The little group moved on. Lining the far side of the parade grounds were endless rows of box-like kennels. Most of them were occupied, some with their residents sitting on top. They were either surveying the grounds, barking excitedly and cheering for their friends on the parade grounds, or... eyeing the new group. Tri kept his head down.

They arrived at a relatively empty section of kennels, where the new dogs were assigned to one crate each. Their new homes were basic: plain wooden boxes with a sloping roof and floors lined with straw and canvas blankets. But they were roomy and, Tri thought, actually seemed pretty cosy. The soldiers attached each dog to their kennel with a chain, then gave them lovely ear-scratches. For a moment, things didn’t seem so bad. These humans didn’t come with bad intent, in either case. The dogs were then left on their own for a while. There weren’t many others in this part of the kennels, and the newcomers received mixed welcomes. Most didn’t take any notice of them aside from giving them a glance of recognition, some whispered hushed opinions amongst themselves, and some did give them barks of welcome. The ones that did said that this was a good place; that they’d like it here. And as dinner arrived, Tri was inclined to believe them.

After the hearty meal, silence fell over the grounds. Today’s work was done and all residents of the school, big and small, were settling down for the night. There was the odd bark and howl, the sounds of dogs settling into their kennels, the rattle of chains and the echoes of the occasional human boots on the gravel. Tri felt oddly content. This was a good place. And now some rest wouldn’t be too bad...

“Hey… Hey! Not asleep yet, are you?”

Tri opened one eye slowly. “I’m not now.” he mumbled and yawned. He lifted his head to see the black dog, the one called Bat, peeking at him from the next box. Bat had seemed anxious all day, and he didn’t seem any different now. Tri wasn’t one to back away from challenges or change, but not all dogs were the same. “You, uhm… alright?” Tri asked.

Bat whined, looking down at the ground. “N-no. I’m not...”

Tri shuffled his paws, unsure of what to do. “Well, uh...” he said, carefully. “What’s wrong then?”

“I’m… I’m scared...” Bat whispered. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen to us…”

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing bad…” said Tri awkwardly. What else was he supposed to say? “These humans seem really--”

“But it is bad!” Bat barked and seemed to recoil at the sound of his own voice, not realising he’d raised it. “I… I mean… I’ve heard talk. Talk about the something on the other side of the water.”

Tri perked up. “What talk?”

“The other side of the water… I’ve heard that humans go there to fight each other. I’ve heard that the fields are bleeding. And that no one ever comes back...!” Bat shuddered in the warm night.

“But what does that have to do with us?”

“They’ll send us there. I know it. And I don’t want to go! I don’t! I just want to go home...”

Tri looked at Bat, brows furrowed. Could it be true? Then why would the master send him there? Had he done something wrong? No, master would never--

BOOM.

A terrifying sound split the night and Tri jumped to his feet. Bat yelped, jumped and tried to run, but was yanked to the ground by the chain. He panicked and the big black dog squirmed and jumped before he simply sank onto his stomach, paws over his head, trembling. Several other dogs nearby were also barking nervously and for some time there was a great racket among the kennels.

“What was that!?” barked Tri, who unknowingly had tucked his tail between his legs and backed into his kennel.

Bat had not moved from the ground and did not reply. Another newcomer, the sheep dog named Ben, said “Whatever it was, I don’t like it.”

“It had to be something bad!” another dog chimed in. “It sounded awful! Like thunder, but worse!”

“It even shook the ground!”

They agreed, it was a terrible sound. Meanwhile, all the other residents of the school seemed strangely unfazed by the whole thing.

Eventually, the ruckus died down and the Shoeburyness dog training school fell silent once again. Bat had gone back into his kennel and Tri had settled down outside his own. He always did prefer to sleep in the open… He looked up at the clear night sky and its twinkling stars. What was this place? Why had the master sent him away? Were they really going to the other side of the water? Tri sighed. He hadn’t been worried before, but now… He glanced over to the people-houses, where a few flickering candle lights could still be seen in the windows. The humans seemed nice enough. And the food had been very good. Perhaps the morrow would bring some answers.