After Walter’s death, the little toffee tin languished at the back of a long-forgotten cupboard. Pulling it from its hiding place, I examined it quizzically.
Scenes of British castles adorned each face, and a little brass clasp secured the lid. Flicking it open and peering inside, I was greeted by a collection of plastic banking bags—some from banks, such as Midland and Yorkshire, that have long since disappeared. I tipped the contents carefully into my outstretched hand.
The tin contained a myriad of coins: monetarily worthless, certainly, but fascinating. What had these coins seen—the heavy old pennies, the tiny silver sixpences, the crowns and half-crowns, most withdrawn before my time? I do remember shillings continuing life as ten-pence pieces into my childhood. Each coin seemed to hold the ghosts of many stories. Where had it travelled? Through whose hands had it passed? If only it could tell me.
I was puzzled. Why would anyone have kept a collection of coins that could no longer be spent?
Then I remembered.
Walter and Doris West had been grocers. Perhaps these coins were not worthless to them at all. They were the coins that had once been, quite literally, their bread and butter, before the new decimal system superseded them. Perhaps Walter kept the familiar objects tucked inside the toffee tin as a reminder of the many hands through which they had passed over the years.
Other little mementoes were mixed among the coins: the dog tag from the collar of a long-lost pet, Juno; a little leather purse with the word ‘Mother’ stamped in gold across its flap; and a small St Christopher pendant, its chain long broken. All were echoes of stories from the past.
The tin now languishes at the back of a different cupboard. From time to time, I take it out and let the coins run across my hand, examining their dates and monarchs and imagining the historical events they might have borne witness to.
Over the years, I have added to the collection. The more precious silver coins have been moved into a folder to protect them from further wear, while newer pieces—including a Jubilee five-pound commemorative coin—have joined the older currency.
What began as Walter’s collection has quietly become mine too. One day, perhaps, someone else will open the little brass clasp and wonder why we kept them.
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