(the banker’s lament)
I really am not very old,
Can still hold down a job.
But oh, it seems so long ago
Ten pence was called two bob.
I can’t remember how I learned
But always glad I did:
Six ha’pence to a thruppenny bit
And twenty bob a quid.
The ‘rithmetic is all still there,
I’ve got the knack, the tricks
To even up the balance sheet:
Half-crown? That’s two and six!
The youngsters think it all quite strange
Although they do seem willing
To learn that twelve old pence it took
To make a single shilling.
To speak to them in LSD
Is talking something foreign.
They scratch their heads to understand
Thrice eightpence makes a florin.
The value of a farthing now
Is quite infinitesimal.
No wonder that we had to change
To counting up in decimal.
As long as we can pay in cash
I’m happy with one thing.
The head of Charles is on our coins.
Fid. Def. God save the King!
© Stephen Craven 2023