THEY were the original Paw Patrol. Hundreds of dogs, all trained in Essex, served in the trenches alongside the frontline soldiers, and saw them through some of the most dangerous missions of the Great War.

Shoebury was home to one of the British Army's most unusual training grounds – the British War Dog School.

On the sand dunes alongside the Thames Estuary, more than 2,000 dogs were put through their paces, ready to do their bit for Britain.

A war dog's main function was to act as a messenger. Paw power was faster, could negotiate more demanding terrain, and presented a less easy target to the enemy.

The dogs also served as sentries, allowing exhausted men to gain some sleep. Specially trained patrol dogs went out with the men on night-time sorties. These dogs learned to be silent, but rising hairs on the back of their necks alerted human companions to lurking danger.

The Shoebury War Dog School was established by a dog-loving professional soldier, Col Edwin Richardson, together with his wife Blanche – a woman renowned for her magic touch with animals.

At the start of the war, Richardson was in retirement, but the shadow of the Western Front soon reached into his home. His son, who had followed the family tradition and become a regular soldier, was killed on active service.

As he studied the casualty lists, Richardson became particularly appalled by the death rate among human messengers. A soldier selected for regular messenger duties had a life expectancy numbered in hours. Richardson discerned that the use of dogs could become a life-saver on a large scale.

He and Blanche set out to experiment with the training of dogs for military duties. “The dogs truly warmed to the work,” he wrote. Waggy tails all round.

In 1916, two Airedales, Wolf and Prince, were dispatched to France. Both dogs did sterling work, and were mentioned in dispatches.

Impressed, the British High Command asked Richardson to set up a regular training unit. Shoebury was chosen, amongst other reasons, because the firing ranges helped accustom the dogs to the noise of battle.

Richardson re-enlisted, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and began intensive training.

The first conscripts came from the ranks of Battersea Dogs' Home, along with strays sent in by local police forces.

However, their success on the front line meant that demand soon exceeded supply.

A call went out to the British public at large to donate their dogs to the war effort. After that, a steady supply of canines flowed into Shoebury railway station from all corners of the country.

Some of the letters attached to the dogs' collars were heart-rending.

One little girl wrote: “We have let Daddy go to fight the Kaiser, and now we are sending Jack to do his bit”.

Another, from a war widow, read: “I have lost my husband and my two sons to he war. All I have left is my dog, and I am giving him too.”

Towards the end of the war, training also began in humane work. The dogs were dispatched with bottles of water for men lying wounded in No Man's Land. Some of the larger dogs were even trained to drag back wounded men.

Tales of doggy heroism raised the pulse levels of millions of animal -loving Brits. Amidst the carnage and loss of the war, here at least was a positive story. The “colonel of collars” and his dogs became worldwide celebrities, inspected by royalty and leading generals. Richardson had to set aside Wednesday afternoons to show journalists round the establishment.

In 1918, Richardson published a combined personal memoir and dog training manual. Post-war, it became a bible for police dog trainers in many countries, including the USA.

One unqualified fan of the war dogs was the British commander-in-chief, Lord Haig. He took pains to single them out in his Armistice dispatch, writing: “Our dogs have rendered fine service to Her Majesty.”

The success of the Essex war dogs could be measured by a back-handed compliment.

The Germans were impressed by what they saw of the dogs. They did their bet to capture the canines, and retrain them for their own requirements.

One wounded German corporal, recuperating behind the front line, recalled how he had come across a lost war dog, wandering confused in the battle rubble.

“I succeeded in turning the dog, so that it became one of our own,” the corporal wrote in his journal.

He paid tribute to the “excellent work of the British dog trainers”.

He and the dog became inseparable, until the animal was stolen in transit on a train.

“My rage at the theft knew no bounds,” the corporal wrote.

The wider world would soon feel the rages of this dog-loving German corporal. He was Adolf Hitler.

ENDS