MALAYA
A world away from the streets of England, where Brian Colley had first sworn his oath in 1947, the dense, sweltering heat of Malaya’s rainforest made the civilized streets feel so distant. Even in the dead of night the jungle was alive with unseen birds calling from the dark canopy and the patter of water dripping off fronds burdened from monsoon rains. He found himself in the hostile land during his first years in uniform that had been started in the routine of garrison life in Hong Kong. The Devonshire Regiment was scattered across the New Territories of San Wai, Tai Lam, and Clearwater Bay guarding the frontier against the turmoil of a China in the throes of civil war. Patrols moved along the border’s rugged terrain, passing through villages and rice paddies. When the battalion was warned for movement to Singapore, there was little celebration as the Devons had grown fond of Hong Kong. Their departure on Christmas Eve was a somber one as the city vanished behind them as their transport slipped south.
Unlike other units with seasoned jungle warfare instructors, the Devons suffered from a shortage of experienced trainers, and their early operations were hampered by a lack of practical jungle warfare knowledge. Many of their senior non-commissioned officers had been reassigned due to service commitments elsewhere, and an influx of National Servicemen further diluted the battalion’s experience. They worked closely with the Gurkhas and the Malayan Scouts to learn the ways of the jungle, as both were adept in tracking, silent movement, and reading the land. The worked closely with the Gurkhas and the Malayan Scouts to learn the ways of the jungle, as both were adept in tracking, silent movement, and reading the land. They adopted the Scouts’ methods of staggered patrol formations, silent signals, and controlled footfalls to reduce noise. They studied how the indigenous trackers read disturbances in foliage, the subtle signs that revealed where the guerrillas had passed. Instructors from the Gurkhas demonstrated the importance of rationing water, building quick shelters, and maintaining camouflage even when at rest. Over time, these lessons transformed the regiment into capable jungle fighters.
The dense Malayan jungle isolated companies and platoons that were spread thin across vast areas and the deep green swallowed each patrol. The humid nights brought on an orchestra of life that made the silence of an ambush all the more chilling. The monsoons were another enemy that turned footpaths into rivers of mud and rendering even the most carefully planned operations into logistical nightmares. There the Devons chased the elusive Communist guerrillas who struck swiftly and vanished into the undergrowth. Their war was defined by slogging through miles of sodden trails to wait patiently anticipating a small party of bandits that often never came.
Luring the enemy into battle was their biggest problem and required excellent intelligence. The guerrillas held every advantage – their knowledge of the terrain, the local sympathizers who fed them information, and the way they moved like whispers through the trees. British intelligence struggled to keep pace. By the time reports reached battalion headquarters, they were often outdated, leaving patrols chasing shadows in an unforgiving jungle. Too often, they arrived to find an abandoned camp, scattered embers still warm, or the jungle already reclaiming the ground.
By early 1952, as the Devons completed their operations in Malaya and their jungle campaign wound down. They transitioned from relentless patrolling and counterinsurgency back to regimental garrison duties. Shortly after returning to England, Brian chose to leave the Army and return to civilian life. The idea of normalcy, away from the constant tension of ambushes and monsoons, seemed appealing, but only lasted so long before he was drawn back to the regiment.
CYPRUS
The Mediterranean air was dry and heavy, laced with dust and the scent of olive groves as Brian stepped onto the island of Cyprus in November 1958. He had returned to the regiment from civilian life two years earlier, re-enlisting just as the Devons were amalgamated to form the Devonshire and Dorset Regiment and were off to another conflict. This time there was no thick and foreboding jungle canopy, no torrential monsoons or threatening shadows. But beyond the narrow streets and mountain villages were sharp mountains and pine forests which hid an equally elusive enemy as in Malaya.
The Devon and Dorsets had arrived in the waning days of the Emergency that had gripped the island since 1955. The Ethniki Organosis Kyprion Agoniston (EOKA) waged a relentless campaign against British rule, sneaking down from the hills to plant bombs in crowded markets and vanish into the villages that dotted the Troodos Mountains. Unlike Malaya, where the jungle dictated the nature of combat and small bands of terrorists hid in isolated jungle huts, on Cyprus the enemy could be a local shopkeeper, a farmer, or a teenager lurking in the shadows of an alley. The regiment was soon operating in Limassol, Episkopi, and Paphos, where companies rotated through duties.
Very often they patrolled the narrow streets of Limassol and the surrounding rural areas where their presence found to be both reassuring and resented by the locals. Beyond standard patrols, the Devon and Dorsets were frequently tasked with intelligence-driven operations. Sections would move into villages suspected of harboring EOKA operatives, searching homes for weapons and propaganda material. Reports from local informants – though often unreliable –led to surprise raids where small arms caches were uncovered. However, such missions were delicate; a heavy-handed approach risked pushing neutral civilians toward the insurgents, requiring officers and NCOs like Colley to balance firmness with tact. The nature of their operations changed frequently – one day they would be manning roadblocks, searching vehicles for weapons, and enforcing curfews, and the next they would be responding to intelligence on suspected EOKA hideouts in the Troodos Mountains. In the sharp mountains, days were spent navigating rugged terrain through pine forests as the Mediterranean heat pressing down on them while platoons and sections searched for weapons caches and suspected insurgents. During these scorching days, the men followed an 'Indian Routine', waking early for training and resting through the hottest part of the day.
Despite the heavy operational demands, the battalion remained on constant standby for redeployment elsewhere in the Middle East, a role that required extensive training in air portability and rapid movement. As young recruits hardened into veterans such as Colley who had already seen operational tours, the regiment evolved from conducting direct counter-insurgency operations to peacekeeping and deterrence as political negotiations took shape.
By mid-1959, the political landscape was shifting as Archbishop Makarios, once exiled, negotiated for the island’s future. As political negotiations advanced, the Devons' focus shifted from counter-insurgency to stabilization and peacekeeping. Patrols became less about hunting guerrillas and more about preventing flare-ups between factions. Violence still erupted sporadically, and the regiment had to maintain a delicate balance of authority without provoking unrest. The men understood that their role in these final years was to ensure a stable withdrawal, rather than to achieve outright victory. Though violence had not yet ended, the tempo was slowing. The battalion, however, remained ever vigilant and suspicious, knowing that the conflict had a way of lulling them into complacency before striking with renewed force. When the battalion finally left the island in 1961, Cyprus was on the cusp of independence.
BRITISH GUIANA
When Corporal Colley and the Devon and Dorsets arrived in British Guiana in 1964, the colony was on the verge of crisis. Racial and political tensions threatened to erupt into open violence. Colley was now a section commander in the Recce Platoon, a role that required patience, resilience, and an acute awareness of both terrain and people. He was the commanding officer’s eyes and ears on the ground. Most of his work was done on foot, though sometimes he could use vehicles, though it was not as stealthy. It was a physically demanding role with a great focus on fieldcraft and communications – to see without being seen and send valuable information back to headquarters.
The platoon patrolled the Courantyne Coast, a vast stretch of land marked by dense marshes, towering coconut palms, and the seemingly endless expanse of rice paddies. The platoon’s independence required them to operate in small teams, covering vast distances with little direct support. Their mission was not just to observe but to establish a presence that discouraged unrest. Each patrol was a balancing act – too aggressive, and they could incite further resistance; too passive, and control of the district could slip away. Their effectiveness relied on a mix of tactical patience, measured engagement, and firm resolve. The patrols themselves were long, sometimes stretching over thirty miles of open terrain between villages and isolated homesteads. Thick, knee-deep mud slowed every movement, and stagnant pools of water breeding swarms of mosquitoes that tested even the most hardened soldiers. The heat was relentless, pressing down like a physical weight, and the humidity left men drenched before midday.
The local population was deeply divided, with Indo-Guyanese farmers and Afro-Guyanese laborers often at odds, their disputes fueled by decades of grievances and political maneuvering. The government had established four large-scale farming communities, intended to foster cooperation, but instead, they had become flashpoints for unrest. With over 7,000 permanent residents and another 3,000 seasonal laborers moving through daily, these villages were fertile ground for agitation and violence.
At first, their arrival was met with outright hostility. Stones were thrown at patrols, and cold, silent stares followed them wherever they went. The men were watched from doorways and narrow alleys, their every move scrutinized. Despite the hostility, Colley understood that brute force alone would not bring stability. He was measured in his approach, refusing to be drawn into the cycle of aggression and retaliation. Where others might have answered anger with greater force, he answered with patience and sympathy. Slowly, the atmosphere began to shift. Conversations became longer, suspicion gave way to cautious engagement. By the time his section rotated out, the same people who had once glared at him in silent defiance complimented his good work and asked when he would return.
His most exceptional moment of leadership and fine conduct was when a suspected arms cache had been reported in a small wooden house on the outskirts of a rice plantation. Colley and his men arrived to conduct the search, moving methodically, their training guiding their every step. The house was a simple structure, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath their boots, the air inside thick with the scent of sweat and damp wood. But inside the cramped confines of the home, tempers flared. One of the occupants made a sudden movement, and in the next instant, a single shot rang out. A man fell, fatally wounded, while another was grazed by the same bullet. The tension in the room was suffocating – fear and anger threatened to explode into chaos. One of the occupants made a sudden move and one of the platoon members fired one shot in defense.
The bullet struck one man fatally, grazing another. The situation teetered on the edge of chaos. Cries of anguish filled the air, and in the moments that followed, Colley found himself alone in command. His platoon commander was miles away. He acted swiftly, moving to control the scene, tending to the wounded, calming the terrified family, and ensuring that the incident did not spiral into greater violence. He kept his voice steady and his commands clear. He coordinated the evacuation of the wounded, secured the area, and took statements from witnesses. His report later detailed every moment with precision, his words measured, his actions justified. For Colley, it was not just about performing his duty – it was about making the right decisions under pressure, when lives hung in the balance. His ability to lead in isolation, navigate complex human dynamics, and uphold the regiment’s reputation had not gone unnoticed. In moments where force could have shattered fragile stability, his restraint and tactical acumen ensured that peace – however tenuous – was maintained. When the official inquiry concluded, his leadership was upheld, his cool head preventing what could have become an all-out riot and his section had full vindication through official inquiry.
For his service in British Guiana, Colley was awarded the British Empire Medal. The official citation spoke of exemplary leadership and devotion to duty, but those who had served alongside him knew it was more than that. His name carried weight, not because of accolades, but because of the quiet, firm way he had conducted himself in the most difficult of circumstances. He had been tested on every deployment, but here, in another conflict of unseen enemies and political firestorms, he showed his true leadership and not just a seasoned corporal eager to be a thorn in the side of the regimental sergeant major with his old mates.