My father told me that he was a kid when his two older brothers brought an English artillery shell and began to open it with an axe, because they had heard something about aluminum parts from which you can cast spoons. From the opened shell, brown smoke went out, which burned a strip of grass near the house for a hundred meters. Then father returned and committed a trial and reprisal, and father got it, even though he had nothing to do with it. It was in 1920, and the projectile was most likely with mustard gas.
Every man is a randomly surviving boy.
P.S. Father - naturally my grandpa. Stupid yandex-translator.
