How bombs were dismantled
It was in the spring of 1945 that, following the example of some of my peers from Gaggio - who from the various houses in the village came to the Poggio and Cav.Antonio Zanini's park ( including the Battistini brothers) - I learned the “ technique” of disassembling long cannon shells.
I think they were m/m.105 “M” ammunition composed of tall brass shells, later used as flower holders on the altar of the Church, and bullets of cm.40 or more in length.
One of the boys would take the “piece” from the side of the bullet, and another from the end of the shell, and the two irresponsible men would beat the center of the “piece” on a large stone in order to deform the mouth of the shell and allow the explosive bullet to be detached, which was also deposited with malice on the grass.
From the shell casing were extracted several small white cloth bags containing the powder needed for the launch, this was probably ballistite or perhaps a mixture of nitroglycerin and nitrocellulose.
With the contents of a small bag scattered on the ground, a more or less long fuse was formed.
Our stupidity reached its climax when we would bring a match flame close to the powder with our hand.
The flush and rush of fire was rapid, and when it reached the pile of bags, I let you imagine what happened.
Then I moved on to dismantling the American hand grenades, the ones with 48 shrapnel.
I think they were called “pineapple model.”
By now I knew all their secrets.
I was casually unscrewing the bomb head, but gently pulling it off, partly because I feared that that little tube -- called the slow-burning internal fuse and ending with the detonator -- connected to the bomb head, was the trigger for the explosion.
One day, when I really lacked intelligence (it can happen), I took a hand grenade and entered the upper part of that big house called “the porch” and placed in the Poggio farmyard of the then Mattarozzi family farmhouse.
Inside were three Brazilian soldiers with their sergeant; on the floor much straw that served as bedding for the soldiers.
With a highly professional attitude (on those occasions, in stupidity I was second to few), I began to “teach” the soldiers how to disassemble a hand grenade.
At the sight of this and after a shout-which has remained in my ears-the three soldiers threw themselves face down on the ground with their hands pressed on their heads, unleashing classic and shouted barracks language at me. I, meanwhile, continued in my demonstration with the confidence proper to those who understand nothing.
The sergeant, on the other hand, wide-eyed with fear, was hanging with his body toward me and slowly approaching me with his right hand outstretched and stammering an invitation to me to remain calm and still (bom rapaz!!!), he managed to get the bomb handed to him already half disassembled.
I gave it to him reluctantly and only because he had insisted.
Having it in his hand, he immediately threw it out the large window of the “porch,” just in time to hear its powerful explosion.
Lucky for everyone that my performance had been interrupted by the sergeant.
I thought it appropriate to quickly slip out of the hands of the military men, who at that moment did not seem very hospitable to me - given the promises they had made to me just before - and flee quickly.