Because these threads disappear eventually so I can claim this poem isn't anywhere on the internet if I ever want to publish it, I wrote a poem that included old currency so I'll post it here for your enjoyment - a lot of us share these experiences I think.
Where I'm from
I am from complicated currency,
from classrooms of girls in gingham
summer uniforms and boys in grey shorts
writing sums that multiplied money
through farthings, halfpennies, pennies
and shillings before we got to pounds.
In our pockets, threepences jostled with
sixpenny bits, florins and half-crowns.
I am from four chews for a penny,
two for a halfpenny, or a farthing each.
I am from handwriting practice,
flowing cursive lines with split-nib pens
dipped into inkwells on scarred desks.
I am from playing outside until dark
climbing trees to make houses of scrap wood.
I am from crossing the main road alone
to buy twenty Woodbines for my mother,
and to ask the haberdasher for STs
which she wrapped in brown paper for mystery
that stayed unsolved until I was thirteen.
I am from Sunday dinners, from Yorkshire
puddings with beef, pork with apple sauce
and lamb with mint sauce I made from fresh mint
picked from a tub by the door and chopped fine
with vinegar and sugar. I am from
roast joints carved with a knife sharpened by dad
on the back step. I am from cups of tea
as a panacea for all ills,
from custard creams and digestives, when
bourbon was only a chocolate biscuit.
I am from party-line phones in the hall,
whose conversations were never private.
I am from black and white television,
showing the Black and White Minstrel Show, from
the radio tuned to the Light programme,
from Listen with Mother, Workers' Playtime,
from Sunday lunchtime comedy, Round the Horne
always followed by Gardeners' Question Time,
where wise-sounding men told us the answer
always lies in the soil. I am from people
where that truism continues to be true.