I read that Dylan Thomas's barely-literate mother was sorting out his poems, separating the wheat from chaff, after his death - and threw the wrong pile into the fire. Who knows how many potential rugby songs were lost to mankind?

(You might wonder why there weren't swarms of academics, critics, culture vultures, fellow-poets, publishers, collectors, and auctioneers - not to mention debtors - swooping in to grab what Thomas left behind - I know I do ... !)