It was a cool autumn morning when I set out to one of my favourite detecting fields in Cheshire. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, and a light mist clung to the ground, giving the whole scene an almost ethereal quality. I’d been granted permission to detect on this particular field a few months back, and it had already yielded a few interesting finds – a Georgian halfpenny here, a medieval buckle there. But nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to unearth.
As I trudged across the dew-soaked grass, my trusty metal detector in one hand and my spade in the other, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. There’s always that little voice in the back of every detectorist’s mind whispering, “Today could be the day.” Most of the time, it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s that hope that keeps us coming back, field after field, year after year.
I’d chosen to start at the far end of the field today, near an old hedgerow that I suspected might have once been the boundary of a much older field system. These ancient boundaries can often be treasure troves of lost items, dropped by generations of farmers and travellers over the centuries.
I’d been swinging my detector for a couple of hours, enjoying the rhythmic sweep and the occasional ping of the machine. Most of the signals had turned out to be modern rubbish or the odd Victorian button, but I was in no hurry. For me, the joy of detecting is as much about the peaceful connection with the landscape as it is about the finds.
Each signal, each careful excavation, is like opening a tiny window into the past. Even the bottle caps and rusty nails tell a story – of picnics long forgotten, of buildings that once stood proud but have long since crumbled away. It’s a reminder that the ground beneath our feet is a living archive, holding the secrets of countless lives lived and lost.
As the morning wore on, the mist began to lift, revealing a landscape bathed in soft autumn sunlight. I paused for a moment to take it all in, marvelling at the patchwork of fields stretching out to the horizon. It’s moments like these that make all the fruitless hours of detecting worthwhile. Even if I didn’t find a single thing, just being out here, connecting with the land and its history, was reward enough.
But as it turned out, the day had something special in store for me.
As I approached the corner of the field, near an old oak tree that looked like it had been standing sentinel for centuries, my detector gave off a clear, high yet somehow soft signal. Now, any detectorist will tell you that this kind of signal usually gets the heart racing a bit. It’s often indicative of a small, silver object – exactly the sort of thing we’re always hoping to find.
I carefully cut a neat plug of turf and set it aside. The signal was still in the hole, so I got down on my knees and started to gently probe with my pinpointer. About four inches down, I felt something small and flat. With trembling fingers, I carefully brushed away the soil, and there it was – a small, silver coin, its surface dulled by centuries in the ground.
At first glance, I could see it was a hammered coin – the slightly irregular shape and the hand-struck design were unmistakable. I could make out a portrait on one side, and what looked like a coat of arms on the other. My heart was pounding now. This was no modern coin – this was a piece of history, something that had lain hidden in this field for hundreds of years.
I sat back on my heels, cradling the coin in my palm, trying to process what I’d just found. It’s a curious feeling, being the first person to touch an object in centuries. You can’t help but feel a connection to the last person who held it, wondering about their life, their world, so different from our own.
As always I photograph and record the location of my more interesting finds.
I then carefully placed the coin in my finds pouch and filled in the hole, making sure to replace the turf neatly. It’s always important to leave the field as you found it, out of respect for both the landowner and the landscape itself. As I smoothed over the grass, I couldn’t help but wonder how many other treasures might still be hiding beneath the surface, waiting for their moment to be rediscovered.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I carried on detecting, but my mind kept wandering back to the coin nestled safely in my pouch. What secrets did it hold? Whose hands had it passed through before being lost to the earth?
It wasn’t until I got home and could clean the coin gently under running water that I realised what I’d found. As the centuries of dirt washed away, I could clearly see the portrait of Elizabeth I, her iconic ruff collar unmistakable. The reverse showed the royal coat of arms, and around the edge, I could just make out the date – 1575.
I was holding a silver threepence from the reign of Elizabeth I, nearly 450 years old. It was minted in the year that Francis Drake embarked on his first voyage to the Americas. When this coin was lost, Shakespeare was just a nine-year-old boy in Stratford-upon-Avon.
The coin itself isn’t particularly rare or valuable in monetary terms. But to me, its value lies in the tangible connection it provides to our history. As I held it in my hand, I couldn’t help but wonder about the person who had lost it. Was it a farmer, counting out his earnings after a long day in the fields? Or perhaps a traveller, stopping to rest under that ancient oak tree?
I spent the evening poring over my reference books, learning more about the coin and its context. It was minted during a time of relative peace and prosperity in England, known as the Golden Age of Elizabeth. The country was experiencing a cultural renaissance, with theatre, music, and literature flourishing. And yet, for the common people – the sort of person who might have lost this coin – life was still hard, dominated by the rhythms of agricultural life and the ever-present spectre of disease and hunger.
Finds like this are why I love metal detecting. It’s not about getting rich or finding treasure – it’s about uncovering these small, personal connections to our shared past. Each find, no matter how humble, is a tiny piece of the vast jigsaw puzzle of history.
As always, I reported the find to my local Finds Liaison Officer. While it doesn’t qualify as treasure under the Treasure Act, it’s still an important piece of archaeological evidence. By recording finds like this, we contribute to building a more complete picture of life in Elizabethan England. It’s a responsibility that I, and most detectorists I know, take very seriously. We’re not just hobbyists – we’re custodians of history, playing our part in preserving and understanding our shared heritage.
In the days that followed, I found myself returning to that field several times. Though I didn’t find anything quite as exciting as the Elizabeth I threepence, each visit brought its own rewards. A handful of Georgian copper coins, a medieval lead seal, a Roman brooch fragment – each find adding another thread to the rich tapestry of the field’s history.
And with each visit, I found myself looking at the landscape with new eyes. The gentle undulations of the field took on new meaning – were they the remnants of ancient field systems? The gnarled old oak tree – how many generations had sought shelter under its branches? Even the hedgerows seemed to whisper secrets of the past.
That silver threepence now sits in a place of honour in my collection. Every time I look at it, I’m transported back to that misty autumn morning in that Cheshire field, and I’m reminded of the thrill of discovery that keeps us detectorists coming back, time and time again, to uncover the secrets hidden beneath our feet.
But more than that, it serves as a constant reminder of the incredible history that surrounds us, often just inches beneath the surface. It’s a history that doesn’t just belong in museums or history books, but one that we can reach out and touch, that we can uncover and preserve for future generations.
As I write this, I’m already planning my next detecting trip. Who knows what stories are waiting to be uncovered, what whispers from the past are waiting to be heard? That’s the magic of metal detecting – every sweep of the coil could be the one that unearths the next piece of history, the next window into our shared past. And I, for one, can’t wait to see what secrets the soil will yield next.
