A FIRST-HAND ACCOUNT OF THE TRIAL OF THE PYX

David Powell writes:

It is well known that the Trial of the Pyx has been conducted since mediaeval times as a method of testing the quality of the coinage; in modern parlance, ensuring quality control. What is less generally appreciated is that, many years after our coinage has ceased direct dependence on the bullion value of its constituent metals, and taken on more of a token value, this ceremony still goes on today. Even less well known is that ordinary mortals like you and I can apply to attend it, and have some chance, albeit small, of getting in.

The Trial is actually conducted these days in three parts:

• Part 1, at the Goldsmith’s Hall in early February, when the contents of the Mint’s trial bags are sampled and counted.
• Part 2, lasting for some eight weeks thereafter, when the samples are subjected to detailed scientific analysis.
• Part 3, at the Goldsmiths Hall again in early May, when the results are announced.

The event which the general public can attend, albeit only by securing prior invitation, is Part 1.

In 2012, two members of the London Numismatic Society, myself included, actually went. OK, what is the point of it in the modern day, you may ask? and yes, it is now just tradition and ceremony. However, a fascinating, interesting and most enjoyable experience.

We arrived at Goldsmith’s Hall, situated in the back streets between the Museum of London and St. Pauls, at about 09:30. Being a little bit early, we browsed around looking at the fine quality silverware on display, of various dates from 17th cent to current. We were invited upstairs into the Great Hall at about 10:00.

The spectator area was relatively small: six rows of eighteen seats, nine each side of the aisle, at the very back of the hall. The rest of it was devoted to the action, and we were separated off, as if by an altar rail, beyond which we were not allowed to pass. There were presumably some privileged guests amongst our number, as the number of places advertised for the general public {about seventy} was clearly short of the 108 available.

Immediately beyond the barrier and to the right-hand side, away from the door, was a Royal Mint display stand advertising its usual commercial wares; the intention being that the public could admire these before and after, although I am not sure whether orders were taken.

For those less enamoured with modern Royal Mint commercialism, there was plenty to enjoy in the architecture and ornamentation of the hall itself: four or five pillars down each side of the room, eighteen sumptuously decorated roof panels, five massive chandeliers, several full-length paintings of Georgian royalty to our left and some fine stained-glass windows to our right. Plus, of course, the minutiae of the Pyx arrangements themselves, straight ahead of us.

As to the latter:

• In the centre, a long oak table running away from us, with perhaps eighteen to twenty seats arranged around it; one for the judge at the far end, and the others for the jurors and wardens.
• To the left, an area largely left clear as an assembly area for the 19 mint officials who had travelled up from South Wales the day before.
• At back right, the pile of crates in which the Pyx samples had been transported, and in which they still waited in readiness.
• In front of that, a small individual counting area for the precious metal and proof pieces.
• In front of that again, along the side of the room, an area for the press. BBC “Money Matters” correspondent Paul Lewis was particularly in evidence, wandering around with a camera.

Although billed to start at 10:00, there was little action until about 10:20 or 10:25; but that was to the good, as there was a lot to take in before the process got under away. At about that time the Master of Ceremonies came and addressed the audience, to explain what we were about to witness, and did it very well. He also reminded us that, even though it may not seem it, we were actually in a court of law; therefore, no photographs please. The atmosphere was thoroughly congenial; we were made at home, and one got the feeling that, despite the serious nature of the ceremony, we were meant to enjoy ourselves. A little like going to the palace for an awards ceremony, as I once did when my father got his MBE.

The jurors walked in at 10:35, followed by the Queen’s Remembrancer, the judge, at 10:45; whereupon, all stand. The number of jurors is not necessarily twelve, as in an ordinary court of law; it is of that order, but is chosen according to the size of the sample. The latter being greater this year than some, we had several more, perhaps about 15 or 16. We discovered afterwards that one had gone sick on the day; no matter, they just shared out the work and it took a few minutes longer.

Also sat with the jury, and entering with them, were three red-liveried wardens of the Goldsmith’s Company. These, and the jurors, were named in order at the start of the proceedings by the Master of Ceremonies, to which summons each replied “Present”. The list included one or two ladies, honourables and well-known surnames, but not excessively so; clearly, the parties, selected by the Goldsmith’s Company, were mostly quite well connected. Their ceremonial task to come, however, was quite mundane.

The next item on the agenda, after the introductions had been dispensed with and before the main activity commenced, was a homily by the Queen’s Remembrancer. He was an excellent speaker; whether a numismatist by natural inclination or just well-researched, I do not know, but he demonstrated a fine knowledge both of early hammered minting techniques and of the economic principle that bad money drives out good. I suggested to my companion, our club secretary, that he would be a superb choice should the club be short of speakers for our programme.

Alas, we did not hear the end of this excellent homily, which chronologically ended at the Great Recoinage of 1697; for the present event was but Part 1 of the annual Pyx, and the second half of the address is traditionally withheld for Part 3 in May. After delivering his speech, which took perhaps quarter of an hour, the Queen’s Remembrancer departed the court and left everyone else to the practicalities. This struck me as rather odd, but no doubt he had better things to do.

No sooner had His Lordship departed the scene, than the mint officials came to life, buzzing around like blue-arsed flies as they starting unpacked plastic crates and delivering a constant supply of their contents, in the form of small bags, to the waiting jurors. The latter each had in front of them two bowls, one of copper and one of wood, plus some paperwork.

The pieces in the Mint bags are, in one sense, already a sample; they contain one coin from each batch made. The juror, after opening the bag with scissors and counting the coins within, further samples from it by placing one coin in the copper bowl, which will go forward for analysis, and the rest in the wooden bowl, which will be returned to the general heap. They record the count in a booklet. We saw one of these afterwards, courtesy of one of the officials who came across to talk to us and showed us his master copy; they consist of a list of bag numbers, against which those falling to the responsibility of any particular juror are marked, in his or her copy, in red felt-tipped pen.

The jurors proceeded most industriously, and in no time threatened to fill up their wooden bowls; but the Royal Mint minions were equally efficient, and ensured that a regular bowl-emptying service {into a sack} was always to hand. The latter clearly knew who was meant to receive what, and had delivery down to a fine art; they had had a trial run, apparently, albeit without the jurors, the previous day.

The number of coins taken to the Pyx varies from year to year according to the vagaries of mintage, and in some years also includes, on request, the coinage of New Zealand {but for some reason not any other of the Commonwealth countries}. This year New Zealand was included, and the total number of coins submitted was 81,000, which was apparently rather more than the norm; Jubilee and Olympic specials, we were told, also boosted the numbers. The proportion of pieces taken to the Pyx is 1 in 10 for precious-metal and other special issue pieces, but much lower for the everyday material; 1 in 50 or 100, or even 1 in 500 or 1000. The lower the face value, the lower the percentage sampled.

The process on the small table to the right was less obvious, but I presume that it was much of the same with lesser quantities of the precious metal material. There were only two officials examining, but they were getting plenty of attention; indeed, Mint officials were almost queueing up to give them things. As someone who likes ordinary coinage which is meant to be used, rather than glitzy special issues, I naturally took an aversion to the latter getting such disproportionate attention.

81,000 coins is, of course, a massive number for 15 to 18 people to count, and I wondered how long we were going to be there; but I should not have worried, for the supply of unopened plastic crates was starting to diminish rapidly, and by around 11:30 some of the jurors were starting to run out of work. That, however, was only phase 1; only quids and higher had gone to the table, plus a very limited percentage of the smaller denominations. The rest of the latter had gone next door, to the counting machines of Phase 2; which, as the room had a very wide doorway at our end, we were able to freely go across and view.

There was no proper end to the formal proceedings in the main hall; it just fizzled out. People drifted across, the jurors at the back of the room behind the main stairwell and the spectators, or such of them as decided to remain, across the landing. If any of you go in the future, I would recommend this hanging around afterwards; there are still things to see and, even more interestingly, the occasional willing official to talk to.

Across in the counting room there were six machines, a line of three on each side, each designated for a specific denomination or pair of denominations. For example, machine 3, near left as we looked through the doorway was allocated to 5p pieces, whereas machines 5 and 6, on our right, were earmarked for 50p and 20p respectively. Each machine had two seats behind it for jurors, and their ladyships or whoever, attended constantly by money-bearing mint-officials, dutifully tipped bag after bag of small change down the chute.

We were privileged, whilst this was going on, to have the senior member of the trio of Goldsmiths’ liveried wardens come across and talk to us, and it was pleasing that he should be willing to do so. Before departing we went back into the now nearly empty main hall to see the remnant of the clearing up, and got involved in another similar conversation, this time with a member of the Royal Mint. He and his colleagues had, no doubt, been packing up; starting, I am sure, with the collecting up of all those pieces in the copper bowls which were going off to assay.

It was all over by about 12:00 or shortly after, I guess; or so we thought, but on descending the stairs from the main hall we found, just as were about to exit, a set of scales in a side room attended by yet another constant scurry of mint officials. Bag bearers were running around everywhere, carrying no doubt the output of the counting machines, and weighing each as they arrived. After a few minutes watching we left them to it, and returned outside to that strange world called normality!

For historical background on the Trial of the Pyx, see:
The Trial of the Pyx (www.thegoldsmiths.co.uk/about-the-company/the-trial-of-the-pyx/)

To read the earlier E-Sylum article, see:
THE BUSINESS OF THE TRIAL OF THE PYX (www.coinbooks.org/esylum_v19n06a29.html)

	NBS (coinbooks.org) Web