Ariah Park B&S: a beacon in the bush

By ALISON DANCE

PETROL fumes fill the air, mixing with the dust and humidity as engines roar and tires dig trenches into the red earth. The alcohol fuelled crowd brims with anticipation as hundreds of akubra bearing country goers reunite with old friends and openly leer at the promise of new ones. They mingle with groups seated on rolled up swags, bonnets and eskies amongst the alleys of utes, cleverly converted into campsites. The tiny town of Ariah Park nuzzled amongst the rolling paddocks and bushland of country NSW has not seen so much action for a year: the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball is finally back in town.

A young man, strong and bronzed from long days on the land, cheerfully wanders through the gathering. He gives his akubra a friendly knock and a “G’day mate” to passersby before continuing on his way, the bindies not a problem for his calloused feet. It’s a sight that could only be found in the country. In cities, a smile at a stranger is met with suspicion and averted eyes, here it is a natural habit that makes it easy to spot the “city goer” or the “B&S virgin” amongst the hundreds of rouseabouts, truckies and wool classers.

Music echoes through the showground, the smell of barbecue entices crowds to the fenced off arena at the oval’s centre where the night’s festivities will be held. In the twilight dacks are being dropped, glimpses of bare chests and bras tease onlookers as the once “bogan” congregation swaps shorts for suits and flannies for frocks. It’s a long standing joke, the black tie dress code of a B&S, but it’s also a rare chance for this land-working group to get “all dressed up like a sore toe”.

The night’s a blur of blasting country music, shots poured from cattle drenching guns, food dye flying from mouths and splattering over the heaving crowd. Permanent marker signatures cover every inch of bare skin and every dark corner is occupied by couples embracing their youth.

A food dye covered man captures the moments on camera, Shane ‘Rippy’ Williams is a well-known and well seasoned B&S goer who, at 51, is the oldest attendee at Ariah Park. He believes the B&S shows Australian values.

“It’s all about mateship. It’s so different from nightclubs where there’s a lot of pressure with looks and rules,” he said.

His wife Annissa has attended 23 B&S’s and left her small home town for work but is drawn back to rural areas for these events.

“It’s a great chance to catch up with friends over a drink especially now we all live so far away from each other,” she said.

It’s difficult to imagine that a mere 27 years ago, this country rave started as a sit down dinner with classic dancing and the fundamental purpose for farmers to find a wife . During this time the national marriage age was 20, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, but in current times it has risen to 30. The average age of participants at the B&S is 22, raising questions of the event’s purpose with claims that it is purely on drinking. Jess Rees, the Ariah Park B&S Committee secretary, agrees the focus has changed but believes it’s about more than alcohol.

“There are still a few romantic stories from the B&S but now it’s more about having a good time with mates and supporting the community,” she said.

More than 15,000 people attended the Ariah Park B&S which raised more than $30, 000 for the local community. It is an event which has the potential to help prevent urban drift by raising funds and attracting young people to the rural area. Professor Linda Botterill, an expert in rural policy at the University of Canberra, said urban drift has contributed to the aging of rural population.

“There are fewer people living in rural areas,” she said. “” she said. “Young people tend to leave for tertiary education and stay in these urban areas.”

Rural communities are aging and declining, the average age of farmers is now 58 while metropolitan areas such as Sydney gain 1000 new residents every week. It is clear these communities which are declining by 4% a year, need young people like those drawn to the B&S.

The main street is quiet; the empty showground is littered with cups, cans and condoms. The sun rises over closed swags and the last stragglers welcome the heat of the day by cracking another stubby, their bodies coated in post B&S grime. New lovers exchange contact details and friends bid a final farewell, the promise of next year hanging in the air. Abandoned campfires slowly burn to ash as one by one the utes roll out the gate in a cloud of dust.