Heads a Bob by Brendan Loonam

Just up the road from our house in Banagher, there was a Crossroads that was an important presence in our lives. It was the convergence, first of all, of the Birr Road, our main connection to points east, most particularly, Dublin, but also the eponymous Birr, and its famous Castle. Angling off from the Birr Road, in a slightly Northeast direction, was the Middle Road, which, a mile or so out of town, became the Bog Road, and was, at that point in time, for its entire length, unpaved. Next up running North and just West, was the Back Road, or was called thus by everyone in town; the chief benefits of the Back Road seemed to be: an easy way of reaching the Sportsfield and also, a connection to the village of Cloghan, though God only knew why anyone would want to do that. On one side of the square formed by this confluence was the Banagher Church of Ireland. St. Paul’s church, and on the other side, across from the church, sat The Pump, which, it is safe to say, supplied the water needs of everyone within a mile, outside the town, of the pump. The first chore of the day for me and my sister was to take a bucket to the pump, fill it with water, and then carry it home using a broom handle between us. On Sundays, the crossroads was important chiefly for one reason; it was the site of a Toss Pit, a circle four to five yards in diameter that was a harmless gambling institution and was in fact by and large a social tradition. The Toss Pit has been out of operation for decades, now, but, for a time there, you
A critical tool at the Toss Pit, and one that those who had nothing better to do could spend their time whittling into a thing of beauty was the Tosser. Now, those who didn’t have the time to waste on such trifling simply took their pocket comb out, possibly wrapping some paper tightly around its center to prevent embarrassing slippage mid-toss, and waited patiently for the sacred pennies to come around to them.
At that point in our history, the Tiger had not yet arrived on our shores with the much more simple Euro monetary system; we were still wrestling with the Pound Sterling, which could be broken down into an amazing number of coin combinations. Each Pound was comprised of Twenty Shillings, a Shilling also being referred to as a “Bob;” each Shilling had twelve Pennies, or Pence, each Penny having within it two Half Pennies, or ”haypennies” and four very tiny quarter pennies, or Farthings; Shillings could be on the other hand broken into two sixpenny pieces; tiny, like a Dime, they were referred to as “Tanners;” the Tanner could also be broken in half, to two Three Pence coins, which were always referred to as “Thruppeny Bits,” which were the only coins in the lot that were not circular, but hexagonal. There were also the “big money” coins, such as the Crown, which was Five Shillings, but so rare that it might as well have not existed and the much more familiar “Half Crown,” worth two and six, or two shillings and sixpence. There were Pound Notes, which were equaled by two Ten Shilling Notes.
So, Sunday, mid-day, the toss-pit was formed, and I would stand with my brothers, and if things went well, I would be given a few “coppers,” slang for pennies, and then the possibility arose that I could begin to make side bets with other young lads lucky enough to be enriched by their father or brothers. Any repetitive gathering of men, especially one formed for any kind of gambling, is bound to develop some hard and fast rules and the Sunday toss-pit in Banagher was no different. I’ve already mentioned the Tosser, used to flip the coins into the air, whose form was not important, as long as it got the job done. If it was your turn to toss the coins, only two things were required of you: the first one was to toss both coins so that they rose and fell together, and second was to build into the toss the turn in air at a certain, understood point above your head. This toss was so important that it deserved a special name of its own. This name was “the Berl” and the tosser, whatever you were using to send them airborne, was called “the berler.” The berl was so important to the process that the men standing in the circle, if they approved of the form, would call out things like, “Lovely Berl, Christy,” which would encourage follow-up exclamations, like, “Good man,” or “Good berl.” My brother Tommy was a great berler, and he would always be pushed forward by his friends, even giving their money to increase his bet, as if getting aboard a “sure thing.” I can’t remember how often those bets paid off, but I can clearly remember his form. Tommy was left-handed, in Irish, a (ciotogach, or kitt-oeg) and his berl was immediately identifiable; when the two pennies rose into the air, the calls rang out, as if he had done it against all odds. All eyes were on the berler, and the left-handed toss, when it began, looked like it couldn’t possibly succeed, but when the coins began the “berl” or curve in mid air, it was a thing of beauty. Meanwhile, on the circle, people were making bets and side-bets, all of which, to the casual observer, were always interesting and quite often baffling: “Heads a bob;” would mean that a shilling was bet on two Heads turning up. The opposite of a Head would be a Harp. “Head n a Harp, a bob.” “Head n a Harp, sixpence hapenny.” “Harps a tanner.” Nobody got rich; nobody went broke; everybody had a grand time.