In the early 60s a plane crashed into one of my father's fields. He and his staff were first on the scene, which was rather gruesome, the pilot and co-pilot were dead, I believe one of them had been decapitated!
The passengers were alive, but hurt.
When my sisters and I got home from school we went to have a look at the scene, which was being guarded by the police, who let us through when we explained the field belong to our father! Even more incredible they allowed us each to take a piece of wreckage as a souvenir!
We brought it home and placed it in our large toy cupboard in our breakfast room, in which we had a shelf each. Some years later my mother had the breakfast room remodelled our toy cupboard, which we had long outgrown was removed. We were not happy girls when we discovered our mother had got rid of our pieces of wreckage without consulting us first! I would have kept mine, a bazaar souvenir to say the least, but it would have been something to show my children and grandchildren.