American Army Camp At Dan Y Parc

A Memory of Dan y Parc.

The area known as Dan Y Parc is probably better known as the property of the Sandiman Family. They had a very large house which they vacated in the 1950's, and the house was demolished at the same time. I know very little of the history of the area or the family. Dan Y Parc memories begin for me in 1950 when my mother, myself and sister moved to the abandoned American Army Camp. The land which it was on must have been requisitioned by the government during the war, there being a shortage of housing after the war made these huts a much coveted item. One can only surmise that the many families that descended on the camp did so with the aim of squatting there. I vaguely remember bowler hatted men and police arguing with a big group of people, and the discussion becoming very heated. I never really found out what it was all about, but for sure it was the authorities threatening to prosecute these homeless families. It obviously did not work and the families lived there for some five to seven years before the council built houses to accommodate them. My time at the Camp (1950/1956) is a time that I loved, I have many good memories and a few bad memories. I grew up in a good family atmosphere, my mother was a stern and somewhat forbidding woman but we loved and respected her. As a single parent, she had it hard and the bread and dripping dinner was on the menu more often, than not. Life at the camp could be dangerous given that the Americans seem to lose or discard ammunition in quite large quantities. We children often found these items - bullets, cannon shells and on occasions, mortar bombs. Fortunately, the mortar bombs were duds, but the bullets and cannon shells were not and the explosive contents were used as good pyrotechnic displays. I think we were very fortunate not to kill ourselves or others. In one instance we threw a cannon shell onto hot embers and retired to what we considered a safe distance. We waited for what seemed an eternity and decided that nothing was going to happen, so we approached the fire and of course that is what the shell was waiting for. It exploded and sent the cannon head roaring down the field, hitting a tree and tearing a large lump out of it. That tree still bears the scar some 55 years later. That tree was alongside the main road and 2 minutes later the local bus drove past it. One has to believe that a divine hand was present that day!! Sadly we were too stupid to heed that day and we continued exploding any ordinance that we found. Boys will be Boys? As boys often do, we became a small gang and some of the things we did were downright dangerous and stupid. The instances of stupidity are too numerous to mention here, save one worth mentioning. A long concrete tunnel had been built by the Americans to cover a stream that ran through their parade ground. A steel mesh gate stopped anyone going into the tunnel - but not a barrier to us, we soon found a way in and proceeded to see how far it went. Half way down we came across a man curled up and seemingly sleeping. Rather than awaken him, we crept past silently and continued on. It was only in later years that I realized that he was not asleep but in all probability he was dead. I wonder if he is still there??
One of the many things in the camp that was so interesting was the wall at the entrance to the camp. It had been built by the Americans and was given a cement cap and while it was wet, many soldiers signed their names and birth places in the USA. Fascinating to think that many of those young men would be killed or wounded in the course of the fighting in Europe. The water tank in the camp was another place that was interesting. One of the soldiers was a cartoonist and his drawings were really good. Some were a little ribald and rude but some were very artistic and well executed. Some Americans had twisted senses of humour, an example was a box that we dug up, secured with a wire around it. It did not take long to remove the wire and with great expectations we opened it and in it was a fossilized lump of excrement and the paper used to clean himself. If that ain't sick nothing ain't.
As I wrote in my other album, we invaded the Sandiman house just about every day. Generally there was no one there but occasionally we got sprung and in one instant Mrs Sandiman chased us in her car. I dived into the bushes and coming out the other side almost ran into a woman who was picking Honeysuckle. I stood within 10 yards of her and she did not seem to see me. I immediatley forgot her and continued on my way. A few weeks later we were in the house and in the cellar and part of the ceiling above had collapsed in. I climbed the wine racks and stuck my head up through the floor and there she was again, sitting in a french window and gazing across the lawn. Again she did not notice me. It was only in later years that I realized that she was wearing Edwardian clothes . A ghost maybe -who knows?

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