Museum-weapons

WW1 "Identity Discs" Dogtags

Finally it’s Friday! Happy Firearm Fridays readers. This Firearm Friday, we pause for a more somber reflection in the spirit of Remembrance Day, we’re looking at WWI-era identity discs instead of a firearm.

The “Dogtags” that are pictured were owned by Private Francis Shepherd who enlisted in 1916 and was a member of the 15th battalion, 22nd reinforcement who was 22 years old when he embarked with the Australian Army. He rose to the rank of Sergeant. In the mess tin we received with his tags in it there were also other items to make up the kit.

-Sargeant rank insignia

-Battallion/regiment patches

-Unknown medal ribbon (possibly distinguished service)

-A comb

-Razor blade

-”Vincents APC powder” (which was an analgesic powder issued at that time)

-Bandage

-Leather boot laces

During the First World War, identity discs, primitive precursors to the modern “dog tag” became a vital safeguard against the heartbreaking anonymity that had plagued earlier conflicts. Before their adoption, soldiers who fell in battle were often buried in haste or lost entirely, leaving families with little more than uncertainty. As the scale of casualties grew in 1914–1915, the major combatant nations formalised systems of personal identification, aiming to ensure that every man, if killed, could at least be named and remembered. Yet despite their best efforts, these early identity discs were far from perfect.

In British and Commonwealth forces, the introduction of the distinctive red and green fibre discs marked a step forward in battlefield administration. The red octagonal disc was meant to remain with the body, while the green circular disc was taken for recordkeeping. However, the very material that made these discs inexpensive and rust-proof compressed vulcanised fibre, proved fragile in the unforgiving conditions of trench warfare.

Constant exposure to moisture, mud, sweat, and decay meant that the discs could soften, warp, crack, or even crumble. Many soldiers’ discs deteriorated long before burial parties ever reached them. In the chaos of no man’s land, weeks or months might pass before the dead could be recovered, and by then the writing on a fibre disc could be illegible or the disc disintegrated entirely.

This fragility became a tragic flaw in a well-intentioned system.
Other armies faced similar issues. The German aluminium Erkennungsmarke could become bent or corroded, while French and American metal tags were more durable but still vulnerable to battlefield damage. No identity system of the era was foolproof, and soldiers understood this all too well. The fear of being lost or buried as an “unknown” was powerful and deeply personal. For many men, the official disc simply wasn’t enough.

As a result, a widespread informal practice developed across the trenches: soldiers began marking their name, initials, or service numbers onto anything more durable than the issued disc. Cutlery, mess tins, pocket knives, cigarette cases, lighters, even the grips of pistols or the stocks of rifles became improvised identity markers. Some men scratched their details with improvised tools; others took pride in neatly stamping or carving their names in the hope that, if the worst occurred, someone would recognise them. These personalised items, made of steel, brass, or hardwood, often survived far better than the fragile fibre discs and became an extra layer of insurance against anonymity.

Today, surviving identity discs whether cracked fibre, dented aluminium, or fragile brass, stand as deeply human artefacts of the Great War. Even more personal, however, are the trench-carved forks, engraved mess tins, and marked cigarette cases that once served as backup identifiers. Each bears the unmistakable touch of a soldier who hoped that, in life or death, he would not be forgotten. Together, these relics remind us not only of the vast scale of the war but of the universal desire for dignity, remembrance, and the simple honour of being known by name.

The staggering loss of life during the Great War underscored the importance of reliable identification more than any conflict before it. With millions killed across the Western Front, Gallipoli, the Eastern Front, and countless smaller theatres, the scale of death was unprecedented and often overwhelming for burial parties and recordkeepers. Entire units could be wiped out in minutes by artillery or machine-gun fire, leaving little more than scattered equipment and broken ground to mark their passing. In such conditions, the ability to identify the fallen became both a practical necessity and a moral duty. Families desperately sought closure, and military authorities worked tirelessly to avoid consigning men to mass graves as “unknowns.” Yet the brutal reality of trench warfare meant that many bodies could not be recovered for days, weeks, or even longer. By which time fragile discs might have deteriorated or gone missing entirely. This immense human cost made even the simplest identifying tools sacred objects, representing the difference between remembrance and oblivion.

Between 908,000 and 949,000 soldiers of the British Empire were killed in the First World War, with 886,000 of those deaths coming from the United Kingdom and its colonies alone. When all nations and civilians are included, the total death toll of World War I reached roughly 40 million people. Within the British Army, the tragedy of identification was stark: of every four men confirmed dead, two were buried with proper identification while two remained unidentified, one as an anonymous body marked “Known Only to God,” and one never found at all. The fibre “dog tags,” essentially made of a cardboard-like material, often rotted away before the fallen could be recovered, contributing to the enormous number of unidentified casualties. Many have argued that the British High Command showed little interest in improving the identification system, as the rising number of telegrams sent to grieving families was making military leadership increasingly unpopular at home.

World War I caused an estimated 8.5 to 11 million military deaths and 6 to 13 million civilian deaths from combat, disease, and starvation. The conflict mobilized over 65 million soldiers and resulted in about 20 million wounded, with 8 million left permanently disabled.

The dog tags pictured are currently not on display in the museum but may be an addition in the future with every respect taken.