Earlier this week, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves, was put on trial in Mansion House.
In front of England’s oldest judicial officer, the King’s Remembrancer, a jury was sworn in, and the proceedings began — not with impassioned speeches, but with the distribution of very large gold coins.
This was the Trial of the Pyx — an ancient ceremony that is still, in every sense, a proper legal process. Held annually, it exists to answer a simple question — is the coin in your pocket good and true?
As Master of the Royal Mint, the Chancellor is technically in the dock. If the Mint were found guilty, m’Lord, of fiddling the figures, the responsibility would be hers. She wasn’t present in person, as this is one of those trials where the accused may send a representative, usually the Royal Mint’s chief executive, but the Chancellor remains symbolically accountable.
As it happens, although Chancellors rarely attend the trial, they sometimes attend the verdict later in the year – such as James Callaghan in 1966, Roy Jenkins in 1970, Dennis Healey in 1976, Nigel Lawson in 1988 – and in 1998, as Gordon Brown was away, he sent his deputy, Helen Liddell — the first female Treasury Minister to attend the verdict.
The trial has ancient origins, dating back to a time when coins were made of precious metals and their value depended entirely on their contents. A gold coin had to contain exactly the right amount of gold; a silver coin the correct weight of silver. To ensure honesty, coins from each batch that were made at the Royal Mint were set aside and tested.
In time, the UK, like most of the world, moved to fiat currency. Coins and banknotes ceased to be literal lumps of precious metal and instead became tokens of value, backed not by gold but by trust in institutions and government.
Paradoxically, that shift made the Trial of the Pyx more important, not less so.
When money depends on confidence rather than physical bullion, maintaining that confidence matters. Central bank independence, fiscal credibility, and economic stability — all are about trust. And while it would scarcely rock the markets if a handful of 50p coins were discovered to be a fraction shy of their statutory 8 grammes, 27.3 millimetres in diameter, and 75% copper, 25% nickel composition, symbolically they must be exact.
So each year, coins from every production batch are sealed in traditional chests — the “pyx” boxes — and stored for testing.
At the trial, those coins are presented to the jury in batches of 50. Forty-nine are tipped into a wooden bowl and weighed as a quick compliance check. The fiftieth is placed in a copper bowl and set aside. Over the coming months, these selected coins will undergo metallurgical testing to confirm their composition.
Around May, the King’s Remembrancer will don his wig and hat to deliver the verdict.
Although the trial is ancient, this year was unusually special.
That’s because since 1871, the testing has been carried out by the Goldsmiths’ Assay Office, and barring the occasional away game, the ceremony traditionally* takes place at Goldsmiths’ Hall in the City of London. With the Hall currently closed for refurbishment, a modern legislative tweak — introduced in 1998 — allows the trial to be held at any suitable location so long as it’s within the City of London.
And so it was that Mansion House, home of the Lady Mayor, became the courtroom.
In a convenient overlap of robes and coins, the current Lady Mayor, Dame Susan Langley, is herself a member of the Goldsmiths’ Company, and she invited them into her parlour.
So, on Tuesday morning, the grand hall slowly filled up with invited guests, while those who secured one of the limited public tickets watched as a robed official in wig and tricorn hat formally put the Chancellor on trial.
The Royal Mint produces three broad categories of coin — the definitive coins for everyday use, commemorative coins, and bullion. After a pause in 2024 when no new definitive coins were struck, around 14 million were minted in 2025, with more expected this year.
Even in an age of contactless payments, cash retains its place.
Including bullion and collectables, 7,838 coins were inspected during the morning session. Royal Mint staff, in bespoke shirts, processed a steady supply of pyx boxes — carrying everything from tiny Maundy coins to hefty gold bullion pieces — to and from the jury tables.
For observers, it offered a rare chance to see coins few members of the public ever handle. The audience was a pleasing mix: officials and dignitaries in reserved seats, serious numismatists with sharp eyes for detail, and those drawn simply by the appeal of ancient ceremony.
It is both faintly absurd and deeply reassuring. Each year, a judge in full traditional regalia presides over a ritual that is more than seven centuries old, ensuring that a modest disc of metal — intrinsically worth far less than its face value — carries the authority we place upon it.
Now 777 years old, the Trial of the Pyx will return in 2027, back at Goldsmiths’ Hall, in a year that will also mark the 700th anniversary of the Goldsmiths’ Company.
If you want a chance to attend in person, sign up for the Goldsmiths newsletter and look out for an email later this year.
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*was in Ironmongers’ Hall in 1990 for the same reason it was at Mansion House in 2026 – rebuilding work.
