The hazards of Bees and Negligees

Bill was finding that a beekeepers callouts invovling bees and ladies in negligees could be more difficult than expected!

The hazards of bees and negligees

Extract from chapter 9 of Bill Clark's autobiography, Route and Branch, podcasts of his book. Recording available here: https://archive.org/download/bees-and-negligees/Ch9d-Bees-and-negligees.mp3

I believe it is important for all beekeepers to dash and help members of the public who have a problem with bees – if the beekeeper is able. For most people, a swarm is an alarming circumstance, and by taking the swarm, the beekeeper is indeed their ‘knight in shining armour’. Picking it up promptly prevents it from choosing a new home in such as a chimney, and causing even more alarm, thereby giving bees and nearby beekeepers a bad name. Above all, it is important to save the bees, and get them into a beekeepers care, for seldom do more than one in three swarms survive in the wild.

Of the hundreds of swarms and established colonies I have dealt with, I have only had to kill two lots. One was my first Wimpole Hall incident. It was the Easter holiday, the season’s first opening of the house, and the housekeeper had entered to find bees everywhere. It was an early call, with my own busy day about to start. ‘Is there anything at all you can do Mr Clark, we shall lose thousands of pounds if we have to keep closed.’ Upon my arrival I found three rooms full of bees. They were coming down two, back to back, chimneys. I asked for old blankets, and an industrial vacuum. After stuffing up the offending chimneys above the fireplaces, I whizzed around the rooms sucking up bees with the vacuum. The last bee was going down the tube, as the first visitors walked to the door!

One call was from the ambulance station at Addenbrookes Hospital. ‘There is a large swarm hanging in the leylandii hedge outside our front entrance.’ I unloaded my swarm box, stopping briefly to pull hat and veil over my head, then shook the hedge vigorously over the open box – praying that the queen had fallen in. With the lid replaced, box and I smothered in bees, I moved it from the hedge a few paces. After opening the entrance, I stood up to watch events, and realised that a row of shocked looking faces were peering out of the windows, and I hastily held up both thumbs to indicate all was well. Within moments bees were leaving me, to enter the box, as more and more fanned out their pheromones denoting the queen was inside. Soon afterwards, free of bees, I called in to say I would return that evening, to take the box away – receiving a round of applause.

One swarm-collecting foray brought the colour to my cheeks! Wendy had told a lady I could only get there late in the evening, and on arrival I walked round the back as instructed and knocked on a door, whereupon it was opened by a housekeeper type lady, who said she was just leaving, but that I was to go up the stairs, and knock on the second door on the left. Swarm box in hand, I climbed the carpeted stairs and knocked, and upon hearing a chirpy ‘Come in Mr Clark,’ walked in. Finding myself in what I can only describe as an OTT lady’s bedroom on an American film set! Sitting up, surrounded by silk covered pillows, was a buxom lady of about 60 years, in an extremely revealing black silk negligee. If it wasn’t for the fact that I could see bees flying around the open window, I would have fled.

As nonchalantly as possible I walked over to the window. Although there was no swarm, I could see one had been there by the flecks of wax on the pelmet. I placed my hand out on the tiled roof still baking hot from the sun, turned – the negligee was now covering even less – and said, ‘The swarm has left, these few bees will return to their original home shortly. What happened is that they went up into the casement roof to live – probably yesterday – but today’s hot sun roasted them out and they have gone to find another home. It would be a good idea to get a handyman to block up the hole before another swarm arrives.’ ‘Oh Mr Clark, you are so clever, I love listening to you on Radio Cambridgeshire.’ She patted the coverlet, ‘Come and sit down and tell me more.’

I said I would love to stay and chat, but unfortunately there were more swarms waiting – and escaped from the room!

Chapter 10 continues with cowslips returning to the picnic field https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/cowslips-return-to-picnic-field-at.html