If you attended intermediate or secondary school in Te Awamutu in the last half-century, it's likely you remember social dance.
For me, the memories are vivid: teenagers packed into a cold school hall, boys touching girls' waists, clammy hands, and the anxiety of wondering who would pick you for a dance. You'd stumble along to pop tracks and learn the Maxina, the Snowball Waltz and the Valeta.
After weeks of practising you'd put your new moves to the test at the social pinnacle of your year — the school ball.
However awkward social dance was at the time, there was comfort in knowing it was compulsory for the entire school. And you can't deny it was a fun, effective and wholesome way to mix with classmates you'd otherwise never talked to, let alone swayed to a love song with.
Social dance is still moving with momentum at Te Awamutu Intermediate and Te Awamutu College — and the schools have no plans to ditch it any time soon.
In the lead-up to this Saturday's Te Awamutu College Ball, I came to wonder — how did social dance arrive in Te Awamutu and why has it endured the test of time?
When trying to trace the origins of social dance, the woman at the centre is Te Awamutu's Coral Taylor.
Coral grew up in Taranaki and learned how to dance at New Plymouth Girls' High School. She remembers the young lads coming across from New Plymouth Boys' High School to dance with the girls.
"The boys had learned to dance with chairs, so dancing with us girls was a treat."
Coral moved to Te Awamutu as a teenager when dancing in the local town hall was what you did on the weekend.
Dancing was thriving in the rural community, too, with dances held in district halls well into the 1970s. Members of the community would dress up for an evening of live music and dancing, followed by a shared supper.
"Young men and women these days haven't had that experience of having Saturday night dances in the local hall, where nine times out of 10 you'd meet your future partner," Coral says. "We used to dress up and put on our best shoes. There were always one or two boys who were wonderful dancers. The girls would always want to dance with them."
But Coral says times have changed.
"I feel, in a way, concerned for this generation. How do people meet people these days?"
In 1969 Coral got a job as a teacher aid at Te Awamutu Intermediate and soon started teaching the entire school to social dance — not an uncommon custom for schools at the time.
She let the students have a say in choosing the music, which was played from records, in the school hall. "I would spend hours at home listening to records to find the music that had the right timing and bracketing for the dances."
She says social dance was also about teaching manners.
"I would get them to ask, 'May I have the pleasure of this dance?' "My rule was that nobody was allowed to refuse anybody, because it doesn't feel good to be rejected. I also made sure the girls would ask the boys for a dance, too."
Over the next 20 years she would teach around 5000 students how to dance.
After Coral left her job at the intermediate she passed on the baton to two women — her daughter-in-law Robyn Taylor and her co-worker Delaine Bowers-Langdon. Both women kept social dance alive at the intermediate, with Delaine taking it to Te Awamutu College when she joined its staff.
Now, at the intermediate, teacher Amanda Bayley is in charge and chooses modern music to match the dances. The students learn the same dances and etiquette that Coral first taught the school in the 1970s. The Year 8 students attend a ball in the last week of school, which teachers describe as a special night focused on dancing.
Coral is proud the tradition of social dance has continued, although she admits some of the protocol might be old-fashioned now.
She still has people approach her in the supermarket remembering the dance classes with fondness. "I've had grown men with grey hair and beards tell me because they learned to dance at school they could confidently dance at their wedding."
Robyn taught social dance at the intermediate for about 10 years, and has been voluntarily teaching it at the college for the last eight years. Since the 1980s her husband Dean has voluntarily prepared music for balls at the intermediate run by Coral and Robyn, and now for the college, and played the songs on the night to guarantee the evening runs smoothly.
This week Robyn has been preparing a couple of hundred students for Saturday's Te Awamutu College ball.
In the days leading up to the event she will pore over the top 40 hits, sourcing the latest music to use. Just as Coral used to do, the trick is finding music with the right tempo, beat and bracketing for each song.
Over the years social dance has kept up with the changes in technology. The music has been played on records, cassette tapes, CDs and now a PC or smartphone.
And the etiquette lessons have lasted. "We teach the students not to refuse a dance, not to run, and to escort your partner back after the dance," Robyn says.
"The teenagers still love it." That was certainly evident when I went along to Monday night's practice to take photos. The school hall was full of rosy-cheeked students dancing, laughing and chatting. Not one student was "too cool" to join in on the fun.
"When the students are on the dance floor they're all on the same playing field — the shy kids and the confident kids," Robyn says. "That's the beautiful thing about the partnership changing — you dance with people you'd otherwise never cross paths with."
What do former students of Te Awamutu Intermediate and Te Awamutu College remember about social dance?
Some found the protocols old-fashioned and like a popularity contest. They said it was awful waiting to be picked for a dance. Others said it was plain awkward, and that some of the boys were smelly.
Most, however, said social dance helped build confidence and broke down social barriers.
On Saturday night more than 300 glamorously dressed students, their partners and staff will arrive at Sir Don Rowlands Centre at Karāpiro for the school ball — most in a convoy of vintage or classic cars and hot rods.
Principal Tony Membery says the ball is a huge event on the school calendar. "It's like putting on a wedding — there are caterers, decorations, photographers and security."
He says social dance is a "proud tradition" and gives the evening an elegant flair. "Otherwise, they've paid all that money for their tux, their suit, their fancy ball dress — and it's a glorified disco."
He says social dance is inclusive and a good skill to have. "When I watch them dance it makes me very proud. I think it brings out the very best in our young men and women."
Tony says the school has no plans to abandon social dance. "We'd only run into trouble if we didn't have a dance tutor. We're lucky and very fortunate to have Robyn Taylor.
"Social dance has a life and a tradition that has been carried on and I wouldn't look to change it."
And at the end of the night, after the king and queen have been crowned and the last waltz has ended, everyone goes home and the ball is over for another year. For many of the teenagers it would be the last time they ever did social dance, as they looked forward to turning 18 and hitting the clubs.
But 50 years after Te Awamutu's Town Hall was demolished, is there hope for young adults to enjoy Saturday night dances again? Could we put down our phones and swap Tinder for the Maxina?
Coral Taylor isn't convinced. "Life is busier now and the music today is so different."
She says you can't always bring old things back — but you can remember them with fondness.
And maybe that's all social dance needed to be — something to look back on with a smile, a waltz to come in handy at a wedding, a chance to develop body confidence and a good old fashioned lesson in etiquette.
A scene guard is in place and inquiries are continuing, police say.