Sixpences, farthings, half-crowns, ten bob notes, and what to do with old tins

I inherited a collection of old biscuit, toffee and chocolate tins from Mum and Dad back in 2009, some of which must have been pretty old, dating from the 1990s and before. 

Mum used a couple to put her sewing stuff in, and I have retained them and use them exactly as she did. She used others to put her cake-icing equipment in, but I don't share her fascination with that kind of thing, and have cleared it all out to make space in my kitchen cupboards for items such as my set of woks.

These tins were once commonplace items in every home, and were added to each year at Christmastime. I suspect every home had an assorted collection just like Mum and Dad's, used for storing everything from cotton reels to old nails. These tins were generally very attractive, especially Chinese-themed tins for loose tea, which I remember were around when I was a child. Gradually, however, one became awash with them, and the least useful of them tended to get thrown out, particularly when it was time to refurbish the kitchen, or move house, as Mum and Dad did several times over the decades.

So the residue left in my hall cupboard wasn't large. Even so, I wanted to thin it out, to create more room for storing additional tins of baked beans, plum tomatoes and sardines. I'm not (yet) a serious Prepper, but there was no harm in putting together at least a few extra items for emergency use. Coincidentally, I'd seen biscuit tins on sale in Waitrose in the form of a sixpence, and had on impulse bought two of them, one for myself and one for my friend Valerie. Here they are.

That's a pretty good replica of a sixpence from 1960, though huge compared to the small coin itself.

I don't know who glances at my blog. I imagine it appeals only to oldies like me, but I may be quite wrong. So some readers may be too young to recall the switch in February 1971 from the old coinage to decimal coinage. Pre-1971, the pound was divided into twenty shillings. Each shilling was divided into twelve pennies. Each penny was divided into two halfpennies, and before the late 1950s - I can just about remember it -  each penny was also divided into two farthings. I loved these little coins. But I didn't collect them because they had worth back in the 1950s and early 1960s, and a child whose pocket money was only a shilling a week couldn't afford to set up a coin collection. 

But by 1968, when the first of the new decimal coins was announced - the 10p piece, equivalent to the old florin, the two-shilling coin worth one-tenth of a pound - I could begin to amass a coin collection from the money that came into my hands. As I'm sure many did. I still have it, preserved in proper albums that I invested in. And during Covid, in 2020, I photographed that collection as one of the projects I had to pass the time, as we were all housebound during the lockdowns.

Pre-1971, it was always fascinating to examine what was in one's purse. There would be shiny, freshly-minted coins of course, but metal coins lasted, and many would be decades old, back to Victorian times perhaps. although those would be very worn. The basic designs remained the same for a long time, but there would be gradual changes. The monarch's head on the other side of the coin would alter, for instance. And there would be some rarities to look out for, such as the pennies made not at the Royal Mint but at Heaton or King's Norton. There was certainly a sporting chance of finding one or two of those. Thrilling for a youngster. Naturally, worn coins - however interesting - weren't worth more than face value, but value wasn't the point. One wanted a representative array of British coins, as complete as possible, in the condition one acquired them, but properly displayed in albums. It was like having a personal slice of history. And in 2026, fifty-five years on from 1971, I am so glad that I bothered. 

So here's a rundown of what the old coinage was like. My own photographs. Taken, incidentally, with my cherished little Leica D-Lux 4, still going strong. 

First, the little bronze farthing. 960 of them in one pound. My favourite coin, with the little wren on the front. I think I used one in earnest only once, in 1958 I think, when I was six. By then it wasn't worth anything on its own, but a halfpenny plus a farthing could still buy some sweets.

Next the bronze halfpenny (pronounced hay-penny). 480 of them in one pound. Latterly this featured Sir Francis Drake's ship, the Golden Hind.

Next, the bronze penny. 240 of them in one pound. This always had a seated Britannia on the front, imperiously and confidently ruling the waves, and no doubt stooping to conquer, something we don't seem to do nowadays. Sometimes there would be a lighthouse in the scene. Very occasionally, an 'H' (for Heaton) or a 'KN' (for King's Norton) next to the date at the bottom.

Old pennies were often well worn, but still usable as currency because they were unmistakable. They were big coins and you couldn't possibly confuse them with anything else.

Now the threepence (pronounced thruppence), and generally called the 'thruppenny bit', at least in my time. 80 of them in one pound. Originally this was a small silver coin, rather like a sixpence. Here's one.  

But then it underwent a complete design change, becoming a multi-sided yellowish coin, very distinctive indeed, and another favourite of mine. It featured an attractive clump of flowers at first, but latterly a portcullis.

Next up, the silver sixpence, also known as a 'tanner', the coin copied for that Waitrose tin I bought (you see, I am keeping up a tenuous connection with the opening paragraphs of this post). 40 of them in one pound. This was the coin people tended to save up in large jars, partly because a lot of sixpences looked good that way. It was a cute little coin, oddly small for its value. When I was a child, in the infants anyway, you could stuff yourself silly with sixpence to spend. Not that I got as much for pocket money at first. But then ten shillings - 20 sixpences - bought a week's groceries in the 1950s. 

Note that I haven't yet mentioned fourpenny coins. 60 of those in one pound. These disappeared a very long time ago, except those coined for Maundy Money - special coins given to selected oldies by the monarch, on Maundy Thursday I believe. Fourpenny coins were once called 'groats'. I've an idea the old-fashioned phrase 'I'll give you a fourpenny one', i.e. 'punch you on the jaw', had some connection with this coin. Or possibly not. 

There were two sixpences in one silver shilling, the next coin. Also known as a 'bob'. There were 20 shillings in one pound. In its day this was big money for a kid. A visiting uncle or aunt was most likely to give a youngster like me sixpence as a present, and not usually a shilling. (These were the days when visiting relations commonly gave children small amounts of money to spend on sweets or funfair rides, and we lived in Barry then, with exotic Barry Island visible from our house, rather a longish walk there and back, but only a short train or bus ride away) One shilling was my standard pocket money until I was ten. There were two kinds of shilling: English and Scottish. 

The silver two-shilling coin, or 'florin', was actually rather an oddity, as it didn't fit neatly into the historic pounds/shillings/pence scheme that had obtained since at least mediaeval times. It was a more recent invention. there were ten in one pound, and so when decimalisation came in 1971 it could be used alongside the new 10p coin. They were completely interchangeable. In the heyday of coin-operated machines, such as cigarette machines in pubs, this saved a lot of expensive conversion work. 

The silver half-crown, of which there were eight in the pound, was also an oddity because the crown was never in circulation as an everyday coin. There were four half-crowns in a pound. It was in practice the largest coin one ever used. It could buy a lot of small items, and for much of its life was a princely amount of pocket money. I liked it. It was a large coin. I used to hear that it was the standard coin put into church collections, and after decimalisation, when the half-crown was withdrawn and 10p became its substitute, there was consternation in the Church of England because church collections had shrunk by 20 per cent.  

The huge and heavy silver crown was never in one's purse. I think it was in fact legal tender, but nobody used it as such. There were four in one pound. It was issued on special occasions as a commemorative coin, in some kind of box. Here are some that came my way as presents.

Even in 1971, it wasn't feasible to put together a large collection of current banknotes. They were just worth too much. But I managed to preserve an old ten-shilling note, or ten-bob note. Two of them in every pound. If you have a copy of The Beatles' Abbey Road LP (or album), you may recall that in the track Mean Mr Mustard, the old gentleman (described at one point as a 'dirty old man') 'keeps a ten-bob note up his nose'. Well, this is what he was stuffing up there. 

Pushing the boat out, and denying myself important money for clothes and shoes, I saved some pound notes too. The old pound note had a long run, but was replaced by a smaller version in 1978, and by a coin a long time ago. Here are the regular and economy versions of the old note. RIP.

I still regret the passing of the old coins. They had character. They were a link with history. Granted, the arithmetic needed to work with them was awkward. From that point of view, I was relieved when we went decimal. But looking back, we lost something important. Something cultural. It was one of those social glues. 

But it would all have disappeared in any event. Inflation would have done for all of it in the long run. In 2026, if we still had the old coinage, even the half-crown (12.5p in decimal terms) would buy nothing on its own. I suppose the old ten bob note (50p) would remain useful for very small items. Only the pound note would still have some worth.

The old money hasn't entirely gone. I was astonished to discover that certain things are still priced in 'guineas', which was £1 1s 0d - twenty-one shillings. It's a thing done with costly things sold at a premium - such as selling a racehorse, or the innings if it wins a race. Or something you might buy in an exclusive gallery or auction house. I suppose it's legal, and not just a faintly snobbish gimmick. 

I still have the government's pamphlet that explains the coming of decimalisation and the changes that it would bring.

Look at the illustrative prices! (Click on the pictures to see them better) And consider at the societal changes since.

You could buy a mint set of the first coins. I did.

There was an outcry that as one 'new penny' was worth 2.4 times one 'old penny', all prices would be rounded up to the detriment of those on small budgets. So they minted the 'new half penny'. It was soon worthless, as unprecedented inflation bit during the 1970s. I took to saving those half-pence pieces for future use as counters for card games. I still have them!

Of all the new decimal coins, the half new penny was the one I liked most. It wasn't truly decimal. It was an improvisation, doomed to quick obsolescence, but meanwhile as odd as the old half-crown. All power to it. It disrupted the neat, carefully worked-out system, and added some individuality to the new, rather uninspiring coinage. No wonder I retain a soft spot for it.

Another thing that didn't go the way the government envisaged was how we referred to the 'new penny'. Nobody used that phrase. Nobody referred to 'new pence'. Its symbol was 'p'. So it quickly became known as 'the pee'. You'd talk about 'one pee' or 'eleven and a half pee' or 'thirty-three pee' or 'two pounds and fifty pee' - or just 'two pound fifty'. I imagine this was all unexpected to stuffy people on expert committees, who'd had high hopes for the new coinage.  

After 'D-Day' my temporary interest in coins quickly waned, and now I don't care much. I'm still pleased that I have a good-though-non-valuable collection of coins and notes, but apart from the odd foreign coin, I haven't added to it. I'm not a serious collector at heart.

After a massive excursion into numismatics, let's get back to tins!

So I had two 'sixpence' tins. They both contained shortbread biscuits. As intended, I gave one tin to Valerie as a present, plus the contents of my own tin. I already knew what I wanted to do with my own (now empty) tin. I was going to use it as a household ornament. Where could I put it? I decided to fix it to a wall in my lounge. It would enhance a set of framed pictures near the lounge door. But really there would have to be anther tin to balance the effect. So I chose a heart-shaped Roses chocolates tin. 

This was the lounge wall before I commenced. 

Note the Black & Decker drill bottom left: this was a brick supporting wall, and a powerful drill fitted with a masonry bit was needed. Unlike Dad, I'm no do-it-yourselfer, but I can manage to drill a hole, tap in a rawlplug, then insert a screw to hang a picture on. Only this time I'd be hanging tins. So I first punched a hole in the back of each tin and enlarged it to a suitable diameter.

Then it was drill, baby, drill. Careful measurements and positioning paid off. The back of each tin went on the wall exactly as I'd hoped.

As you can see, it was one of those after-breakfast jobs that stretched on into the morning, so that I was still in my night attire as lunchtime approached. I took my time. There was no reason to rush and mess things up. 

The 'sixpence' tin looked really good.

But I was particularly pleased about the heart-shaped Roses chocolates tin. 

Mum had liked these tins: they were very much associated with her. In a way, that tin was now a little object of commemoration for Mum. Dad had his framed Jubilee Medal in the hall; this was Mum's medal.

Afterwards I wondered where I'd got the idea for sticking these tins on the lounge wall. With plans to do the same for other tins. I hadn't seen it done anywhere else, or at least I'd never noticed it done. But surely it wasn't an original idea. It doesn't matter. It's still, in my view, an interesting way to use old tins that would otherwise stay in a cupboard or just get thrown out.