Bees Behaving Badly
Paul Bright 2002
‘Eat
honey my son for it is good: honey from the comb is sweet to the taste, know also
that wisdom is sweet to your soul.’ Proverbs 24.13.
Well there they were on the beautiful Llyn Peninsula of North Wales, it’s the long finger of land that thrusts out towards Ireland if you don’t know. Basing themselves in their friend’s holiday cottage called Ty Pen, which means end house, at Nefyn an un commercialised historic little town famous in the past for its shipbuilding and herring fleet, Paul and Catherine’s minds were buzzing with a list of things they needed for the week. Taking a trip to the local Spar they decided there was still one item missing for the two honey monsters…. a jar or two of the local nectar!
Making
a beeline for a cottage situated nearby in the delightful little village of
Edern they knew of a family who sold at the door and from whom Paul and Catherine
had bought some honey cone from last year.
The
door was answered by a tall thin lady with long, finely combed hair and done up
in cone like fashion held by a red clasp. From within there was a buzzing sound
of children and plates clattering and it immediately became clear it was tea
time with the brood swarming round the table, tucking into a tasty dish like
bees round a honey pot.
The
lady called out to her husband ‘sweetheart there’s someone who wants to buy honey’.
‘Okay my queen, coming’, came the reply from deep within. Paul apologised for calling
at such a busy time, ‘Oh no’, she said, ‘we’re used to flying into action at a
moment’s notice, nature of the business’.
Mr
Haywood the beekeeper came to the door, a man in his forties with suntanned complexion
and wearing round-rimmed glasses resembling compound eyes. He was holding a
couple of pots of liquid gold…wildflower and heather honey, which he had taken from
his store at the bottom of the stairs.
The
beekeeper had a cold, evidenced by him blowing a runny nose, however, on being
asked how the bees were he started waxing lyrical about the years he had been an
apiarist. In fact we learnt later that he was the bee inspector for the area
and would visit other beekeepers to check on their broods and produce.
At
one point Mr Haywood confessed that when he had the bees at home he got into
trouble with the neighbours and had to move them to an ‘out apiary’ site. On
enquiring why he described that when the bees took off together they always went
on the same flight path over his neighbour’s car and rhetorically asked, ‘do
you know what the first thing bees do when they take off?’ No what are the first
thing bees do when they take off? He said
‘they open their bowels and their droppings set like enamel and in this case over
the neighbour’s new car. My neighbour was beside himself with anger and so I
had to move them’.
By
this time the beekeeper was droning on somewhat and Paul and Catherine wanted
to settle up. They were told the honey was a set price at £3.50 a jar, but more
expensive at the shop a few doors away where the proprietor tended to hive off some
profit. Paul and Catherine thought they had been stung as back home in Bath one
could get it at the local greengrocers for £2.20 for 454grams, which is 1lb for
those who still like to think that way.
Catherine concluded ‘well if it keeps one worker in business I believe its
worth it, lets be off and taste and see!’.
THE END
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