The Old Girl On The Train...

As a former beekeeper, there’s nothing I like better than showing off my beekeeping knowledge. When I wrote the National Trust guide to beekeeping in 2004* (see, showing off already) there wasn’t quite the interest we have now.

Now that we’ve got ‘sudden colony collapse’ and the true horrors of the bee pest ‘varoa’ - a debilitating tracheal mite that attaches itself to bees and won’t let go – there are regular news items about how bees are doing. Or not doing.

Underpinning the worry is the quote from Einstein: “Remove the bee from the earth and at the same stroke you remove at least one hundred thousand plants that will not survive.”

This was transformed by some bright sub-editor somewhere along the line to “Remove the bee from the earth and man will have four years left to live.”

Neither are likely to be true because insects evolve and adapt quickly and even if honey bees weren’t there some insect would rush in to exploit the vast quantities of nectar and pollen going begging.

In the Spring it’s important that bees get off to a good start with a good source of early pollen and with the municipal drive to plant as many crocuses and daffodils in open spaces as they can, bees have never had it so good. I cycle through Barnes on the way to work, and at one end of Barnes Green there is a strip of land opposite Gails bakery that looks like the council have diversified into commercial horticulture. Wordsworth would be speechless.

Actually, it’s not quite the same is it: “I wander'd lonely as a cloud. That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I passed the 209 Bus And saw that Richmond Council had gone bonkers planting daffodils “

But I digress.

This desire to impart information about bees got the better of me on a train from Surbiton to Waterloo the other day. It was a full train, with every seat taken. The train was not stopping until it got to Waterloo. As we were passing through Wimbledon it became apparent that a bumble bee must have flown into the compartment at Surbiton and was banging on the glass trying to get out.

In situations where bees are trapped inside (actually, make that wasps, too) they will always head for the light. So during the days, it’s towards windows, and at nights, it’s at light bulbs.

This large bumble bee had zeroed in on what it thought would be its best chance of escape, a wide stretch of sealed window next to a feisty old girl who wasn’t the least bit scared, just concerned that it should get out. Everyone in the packed carriage was watching it to see what would happen next. Occasionally it would fly off down the carriage and then return back to this same spot.

I thought to myself, ‘shall I say something like, “let me through, I’m a beekeeper” and go and kill it. It could sting someone, it could panic someone, and to be fair it was a goner. It was now so far from its nest it would never ever make the distance back. All it could do was forage around for the rest of the day, hope to find somewhere warm overnight that d idn’t drop below about 10C (and we were having 6-7C nights). That’s no way to live.

But I couldn’t exactly go across and kill it because people are fond of bumble bees and it would seem like the action of a nazi insectophobe.

Before I could do anything, the old girl grabbed a reasonably empty cup of coffee – humorously showering the lady opposite her with the dregs in the bottom of the cup as she went for the bumbler – and after some clumsy moments banging it against the window, managed to capture it. And there she sat with her bumble bee captive in a cup on her lap, waiting for Waterloo. “I’m going to find a park and release it there,” she said to her companion.

As we got out of the train I thought I should tell her, so I went across and said, “If you want it to survive, the best thing to do would be to give it to the guard and ask him to release it back in Surbiton.” (Trust me. I’m a beekeeper). She looked at me as though I was joking, and to be fair, it did seem an unlikely suggestion. You could imagine the delay it would cause and the subsequent train announcement:

“SouthWest Trains would like to apologise for our temporary stop at Surbiton station. This is so the guard can release a bumble bee close to its nest. Thank you.”

She gave me a smile and said firmly; “No, I’m going to release it here,” at which point the lid which she had been clamping down on top of the cup slipped. But no bumble bee flew out. She peered in through a crack. It was dead. In capturing it she must have bashed in against the window.

“To be honest, it was dead from the moment the sliding doors shut,” I told her, but it wasn’t much consolation.

*It’s written under the pseudonym Andrew Davies. It’s a lot more practical than the Grumpy Gardener’ but far fewer jokes.