PHIL FITZPATRICK
TUMBY BAY - In the late 1960s while attending a course at the Administrative College in Waigani, I was invited to the home of a young American woman who was working at the University of Papua New Guinea.
I’d become fascinated by the burgeoning literary scene at the university and had met the woman through a mutual friend who taught there.
She must have had independent means because she had bought a house in Boroko and was busily renovating it. Among the modifications she commissioned was something called a ‘conversation pit’.
I first observed it while it was being built. A couple of bemused Papuan carpenters worked on it. They didn’t understand its function but nevertheless lent their considerable skills to the task.
The finished pit was essentially a sunken floor within which there was a circle of comfortable seats. In the middle was a low table and there were cushions scattered around.
The pits were apparently popular in America during the 1960-70s and are attributed to Finnish-American architect Eero Saarinen, who built one for the industrialist J Irwin Miller.
As is the way of these things, when Miller had one everyone had to have one. Thus was the conversation commoditised.
In Ireland the art of conversation had been an age old tradition that existed without the aid of a pit but the art was not really defined until the 1960s when the word ‘craic’ became popular.
‘Craic’ was probably borrowed from the English word ‘crack’, which had a similar meaning, but was modified into Gaelic. The Irish tourism industry popularised it when all things Celtic came into vogue. Like many things Celtic, something claimed as an ancient tradition was often invented yesterday.
The word essentially refers to what happens when a group of people get together to talk and gossip, usually in a pub. “What’s the craic?” is now a commonplace greeting in Ireland.
The idea of gatherings to talk, either idly or with intent, is a custom enjoyed since human time began.
Before conversation pits, or even pubs, people would gather at night around campfires or hearths to talk and review the day’s events. The Chinese and Spanish had raised platforms for the purpose and many Muslim homes still use rugs and cushions in a room for the same thing. The function of men’s houses in Papua New Guinea included many forms of communication, including banter, discussion and instruction.
The conversation pit, in its original form, has now gone the way of the dinosaur. By the mid-1970s people were reclaiming and re-flooring them. That they had ever existed became a thing of embarrassment.
You can still occasionally stumble across a form of these pits but they are not designed for conversation any more. At one end there is now a huge television screen. People sit in the pit staring at the screen and ignoring each other. Those not staring at the screen are usually busy with hand-held digital devices.
It would seem that the art of the conversation is dying and all the wisdom contained therein is being lost. Only in the remote valleys of ‘undeveloped’ countries does the practice still enliven life around the campfire.
Even in the pubs you now have to carry on a conversation with a ubiquitous big screen pouring sporting banalities or drowning your senses in a cacophony of loud music.
We humans are a very smart species but sometimes we outsmart ourselves. Killing off the art of conversation is one of our dumber initiatives.