The Conversational Mention

In 2004, we moved from Los Angeles (Pop. 3.8 million) to Lampeter, Wales (Pop. 1200) where I took up a position in the English Department of the University and began a PhD. I kept a journal (and all emails and letters) during the 6 years we were there. This is from one of my first letters home:

“Here, in this small hamlet, when you want something done, you mention it. Just that. You might say, “I’m looking for some slipcovers for my sofa,” to one or two people. Then you sit back and wait. Inevitably, someone’s cousin, neighbour, friend, someone’s church bazaar, Women’s Institute meeting, or reading club will: a) be about to make, b) be just about to donate to a charity shop, c) be happy to sew, d) have a relative in Carmathen who wants to get rid of, e) know the owner of a B&B who is about to replace, f) be just going off on Saturday to a department store in Swansea to look for towels and will be happy to give you a ride to shop for – etc. etc. — slipcovers.

We got our flat this way, our car this way, our furniture this way and found out how to obtain almost every service (car insurance, tax information, organic produce, train tickets, etc.) this way. The Conversational Mention is a really amazing and effective method of acquiring goods – and it requires so little effort that it is a joy. It really is the most efficient way of getting anything done.

There is also The Network. Similar to the Conversational Mention, but not applied to goods, only information, the Network System of keeping up to date with pertinent information is the verbal CNN or New York Times of Lampeter. Consider conversations like this:

Me (to the butcher) “One box of eggs please,” I say, taking a box (of six) off the countertop – (eggs here are never refrigerated and almost always come in half-dozens).

“Oh you don’t want those,” he says. “Take these.” (indicating a different pile of boxes of six near the other ones).

“What are those?”

He says with a flourish, “They’re Bahn eggs.”

“Bonn eggs?” I ask. “From Bonn, Germany?”

“From Lewis,” he says. The butcher is very economical with words. He rarely says more than three words at a time.

“Lewis? I thought you said Bonn.”

Yes. Lewis’ Bahn.”

“Okay,” I say, having the Alice n Wonderland feeling I get so often here. The eggs are from a company called Lewis in Bonn?”

“No,” he says.

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“The chickens are in the Bahn,” he enunciates very clearly (and loudly). “At Lewis’s Fahm. In Llanybydder.”

A light dawns.

“Oh!” I answer. “I see. The barn. They’re barn eggs.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Oh, well,” I say, “Why are these eggs better than the other ones? Are they free range?”

“Not really, they’re Bahn eggs.”

“Sorry, I don’t know what that means – are the chickens cooped up or can they walk around outside?”

“They can walk around outside if they like. But they stay in the barn.”

“Why?”

He gives me a reproachful look. “Because they LIKE it.”

“Oh.” I don’t want to be a nuisance but I feel I must ask. “Well then, what makes these eggs better?”

He peers at me, leans over the counter. “Because they’re HAPPY!” he shouts. “Happy chickens. They’re happy, nice and warm in the bahn, aren’t they? And you always get good eggs from HAPPY chickens.”

I take a step back since he looks a tad fanatic. “Uh, yes, I guess so.”

I have a feeling it has cost him a lot of energy to make this long speech.

“You try them,” he says, more kindly. “Then tell me.”

I thank him very much for all his help and information, and put the eggs in my shopping bag. (Yes, I have a canvas shopping back just like all those British ladies in movies of the fifties – although it’s just my Mills College tote bag.)

So I take home my barn eggs from the happy chickens in Llanybydder. I find out that they are orange-yolked, very fresh, and absolutely delicious.

Later in the week, I tell our friend Peter who is a semi-vegetarian this story. He finds it ironic that the butcher is shouting about happy chickens while hacking bits of animals into chops and roasts. But he buys his eggs there too – and agrees with me that these are the best eggs we have ever tasted.

When I go back to tell the butcher how good they were, he smiles at me (for the first time). “We don’t get them often,” he says, “but I’ll let you know when we have them. I wonder how he will let me know, but I don’t wonder long. Almost everyone we know buys eggs at this butcher shop. The Network or Conversational Mention will take care of it.”

This excerpt was first published in Carpe Articulum (within a larger article, titles Letters From Wales) in 2011: