the perfect marriage May 31, 2008

It could have been anywhere, but it was there, in Saltaire, the perfect marriage was there.

In the 1800’s, during an indus-trial revolution, sour in the backstreets elsewhere, a man named Salt from Morley put his name and money alongside the River Aire and built an entire village called Saltaire, cascading gently down to the large work-mill that stands there today. Housing Hockney’s artwork. Made populah-lah by it.

These are perfect terraced streets of sublime terraced houses, interspersed with a few shops and a hospital and a school and a church and a large ballroom. Salt liked his workers to dance. But not drink. No pubs, cept now on the fringes – some crept right in as swanky wine bars the sort you can sit at the window and watch the world go by (through the fancy lettering). The houses are des res – this is Utopia.The railway runs through it alongside the canal alongside the River. All not far from bustling Bradford, and Leeds so there’s a throng to be called upon.

A place to live then in the 1800’s when it was grim elsewhere : hula-hoop, games, endless games on the streets, work assured, a sense of place, an afterlife : you were taken care of at the sanatorium when you were knackered from work. Big Saturday night at the Ballroom for those with legs. Weddings a plenty.

Back now in 2008, the vicar at the marriage I am attending (Peter & Nemone’s) is in fact the vicar at Bradford City Football Club also. He speaks of the compelxity of marriage, of differences that could be and should be accommodated. He sermons as if, like Salt before him, things could last and be pretty good.