A story from my dad that is probably the typical fate of such things: They were doing renovations (in the 1960s) on our then 280 year old farm house (in southern Germany). Cutting up the the wooden beam that had been a door lintel for firewood, suddenly there was a shower of paper confetti. Someone in the distant past had bored a hole, inserted a paper scroll and plugged it. Ooops. But what difference did that make, really, to the unknown individual who wrote and stashed the scroll?

Some years later, my dad was building a new house. We kids were allowed to play in the unfinished house. Scribble and write on drywall that would be painted anyway, etc. Well, 50-ish years after that, renovations were done, and behind some paneling they found a letter to future readers by early teenage me! Happily they sent me a picture of it. I had no recollection of writing it.