Bombs are dangerous things. You learn to have respect for the chaps who wheeled them out and loaded them in to your plane, and later much relieved when you had got rid of them over the target to get back home and land safely.
I felt concerned for my parents who lived within a hundred yards of an army depot, subject to many nightly bombing raids from German planes.
My concern reached its peak when arriving home on a weekend pass to learn that my elderly father had, after the previous nights raid, gone out into the garden to survey the damage and pick up pieces of shrapnel.
In his own words I saw these fins sticking up in the ground, so I pulled and pulled and this tube thing came up.
He then brushed it off and marched with it under his arm, three quarters of a mile to the village police station.
Imagine the desk sergeants horror to be presented, by an elderly pensioner, with an unexploded incendiary bomb saying. I dont know what this is. I found it in the garden!