MONDAY February 15, 1971, was a big a day. Equally anticipated with feelings of excitement and dread, it was the day the UK underwent a much-needed monetary makeover, finally going decimal – replacing old money with a new method of remuneration, which still exists today.

Not even diehard purists could deny that the centuries old imperial currency of pounds, shillings and pence (£sd) was complicated and difficult to work with – making advanced algebra seem like a stroll in Locke Park.

Four to a penny, farthings had been removed from circulation ten years previously. A penny still consisted of two halfpennies, though. And twelve pennies made one shilling, of which twenty made a pound.

Which was fine; but when it came to adding, say, eleven pounds, nine shillings and tuppence halfpenny with four or five similar amounts, people invariably struggled.

There was no such a thing as calculators, remember. A pen and paper and no small amount of mental agility was essential to complete mind bogglingly complex calculations.

Complicating matters further were various pet names for coinage. Sixpence was better known as a tanner: a shilling a bob.

Two shillings was two bob or a florin, with two shillings and sixpence commonly known as half-a-crown - though only when presented with the silver-minted coin of the same name.

A threepenny bit was in circulation, a nickel-brass, twelve-sided coin, proudly stamped with a castle portcullis. We had a brown banknote worth ten shillings, ubiquitously known as a ten-bob note. Pound notes were a quid. And then there was guineas to contend with: twenty-one shillings - no specific notes or coins, but legal tender all the same.

The public were schooled regarding changes over a couple of years. Every household was sent a guidebook, detailing the new system, while decimalised coins were introduced in advance, specifically new 5p and 10p coins, filling in as one and two bob pieces - a precursor to introduction of the 50p piece, famously becoming the world’s first heptagonal coin.

At school, we were continuously prepared for change – no pun intended – during seemingly never-ending, full-on maths sessions. On the big day, a present: we were each gifted a small, blue plastic wallet, containing gleaming samples of the new currency.

A brown soap halfpenny, plus one and two pence pieces. In silver, a 5p, 10p and 50p piece, totalling 68½p, the equivalent of approximately £12.48 of spending power nowadays.

No 20p coin, mind – this didn’t arrive until a good ten years later, a second seven-sided coin, purportedly to enable it to be removed from a tight-fisted Jumper’s hand using a spanner.

A real collector’s item, the wallet was viewed as anything but by the overwhelming majority of recipients. It was free cash in most kids’ eyes and went straight in the sky-rocket, funding a variety of spending sprees; a trip to the pictures, perhaps, or an afternoon at the footie. Down our way, we made a beeline for Wombwell’s number one spice shop, Burgin’s on Station Road, standing conspicuously side by side with the chippy of the same name – best fish and chips ever in my humble opinion, narrowly beating the fabulous Pendlebury’s on Barnsley Road.

We might have been tutored upon decimalisation, but couldn’t help feeling thrilled by how far our money went. A dozen penny arrows for only five pence was almost beyond comprehension.

Granted, we hadn’t got to grips with conversion rates at this point. But it blew our minds to the point where we spent every last penny across a series of visits, departing with pockets bulging with treats, ensuring none of us ate our tea for days, facing the nightly wrath of irate, hard-up parents.

Money, eh? It supposedly makes the world go round. I’m not so sure. Root of all evil seems infinitely more apt. I mean, let’s be honest: it doesn’t really exist, does it? It’s just a made-up thing to ensure everybody keeps on grafting indefinitely. I often think life would have been far simpler if we’d have stuck with bartering.

On a positive note, I’ve just checked my bank account and I’ve enough to retire on – just so long as the world ends a week on Sunday. Ba-dum tish.