I grew up in the nineteen forties in a village at the edge of the New Forest in England, on the other side of the road from the bungalow in which I was born there were two massive oak trees, beneath and beside the oak tree on the left was a holly bush, we would cut berried twigs from the bush to decorate our home at Christmas. When I was five or six I crawled into the space under the holly bush and there I found a small round tin that rattled when I shook it.
“Treasure!” I thought. The tin was rusted shut, it had obviously been lying there for quite a while. I did, after some considerable effort with a screwdriver, get the tin open and inside was … a set of false teeth!