The latest issue of our village newspaper had, somewhere inside, between a message from the mayor asking people to sweep their sidewalks on Saturdays and the opening hours of the local library, a picture of a local farmer with a pile of WWII-era bombs he’d recently found in his field.
When they built the new soccer field, they turned the old one into housing plots; but before they could build, they had to clear away a bunch of bombs and grenades some old guy remembered they’d buried there right after the war, back when it’d been a fallow field. I guess a lot of that went on back then. What else can you do with old bombs? Too dangerous to blow them up I guess.
My father in law still has a scar on his leg from when, as a boy in WWII, he and his friends went fishing with hand grenades they’d gleaned from downed Allied aircraft.
