The meat of the article:
The process of screening partners was very simple years ago. A dance gave women a socially sanctioned method of getting up close and personal with a series of men. A good old barn dance was nothing more than speed dating, with men being given 30 seconds to make their case before the next one came along.
Plus meme, plus ca change.
And on top of all that, you got to see for yourself whether Gerald from Dubbo (say) really was six foot four with wavy blond hair, shining teeth, square jaw and sparkling blue eyes... or a morbidly overweight horror with a fear of toothpaste, soap and razors. What's more, there were plenty of people about the place to grapple with him if, for some reason, he forgot himself and tried to grapple with you. And the same applied in reverse.
What I suspect is that practical farmers' sons were more inclined to pick a girl who looked and talked like she'd spent her childhood helping on the farm, regardless of what she looked like; leaving the remainder to be picked up by the town dwellers, hired help and travelling opportunists. I've seen quite a few (groups of) cowboy-hat-wearing machismo-oozing young men who are in town for the weekend and assiduously trying to chat up the prettiest young things they can find; and I would like to think that any half-decent farmer's daughter could tuck these little bastards under her arm and knacker them with no more effort, compunction or mercy than she would a bull calf that wasn't for stud. *evil grin*
So Bill Jones meets and marries Sally Smith from the adjoining farm, and their Julie marries Bob Williams's kid from just over the river, and so on and so on... from tiny barn dances can rural empires grow. :p
The process of screening partners was very simple years ago. A dance gave women a socially sanctioned method of getting up close and personal with a series of men. A good old barn dance was nothing more than speed dating, with men being given 30 seconds to make their case before the next one came along.
Plus meme, plus ca change.
And on top of all that, you got to see for yourself whether Gerald from Dubbo (say) really was six foot four with wavy blond hair, shining teeth, square jaw and sparkling blue eyes... or a morbidly overweight horror with a fear of toothpaste, soap and razors. What's more, there were plenty of people about the place to grapple with him if, for some reason, he forgot himself and tried to grapple with you. And the same applied in reverse.
What I suspect is that practical farmers' sons were more inclined to pick a girl who looked and talked like she'd spent her childhood helping on the farm, regardless of what she looked like; leaving the remainder to be picked up by the town dwellers, hired help and travelling opportunists. I've seen quite a few (groups of) cowboy-hat-wearing machismo-oozing young men who are in town for the weekend and assiduously trying to chat up the prettiest young things they can find; and I would like to think that any half-decent farmer's daughter could tuck these little bastards under her arm and knacker them with no more effort, compunction or mercy than she would a bull calf that wasn't for stud. *evil grin*
So Bill Jones meets and marries Sally Smith from the adjoining farm, and their Julie marries Bob Williams's kid from just over the river, and so on and so on... from tiny barn dances can rural empires grow. :p
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