Photo: The Bad Beekeeper's Club

Bill Turnbull’s interest in honey bees was tweaked when a swarm arrived in his garden and was removed by a local beekeeper. A few years later he took a local beekeeping course and was not daunted by his first painful stings. He had arrived for a practical beekeeping session straight from a TV studio. Unaware that bees have an aversion to hair gel, he was stung twice on the head.

When he finally managed to get into his bee suit he found that a bee was trapped inside the veil. But even this horror didn’t put him off beekeeping. In fact he’s been keeping bees for over ten years.

I was sent this book a few weeks ago. It quickly got to the point when I couldn’t put this book down and I spent many happy hours in the swing seat devouring this book.

I rarely watch TV so I hadn’t heard of Bill Turnbull. His self depreciating charming style of writing is seductive. Reading this book was like spending days catching up with an old friend.

Being a beekeeper myself his antics had me weeping with laughter. This is not just a book for beekeepers – although all the beekeepers that I know would love a copy. He cleverly introduces the world of the hive and the complexities of the bee colony in a witty and informative way. He also traces the history of beekeeping through the ages and underlines the impact and the importance of these creatures in the production of food. Without wind and bees pollination wouldn’t take place and crops would fail.

Bill clearly adores his bees. He is not a bad beekeeper just a beekeeper that has tried some rather edgy shortcuts and has been unlucky. Such as accidentally squashing a queen on a few occasions – as the queen is the heart of the entire colony it’s rather a big a blunder.

His fervour for beekeeping extends to a penchant for collecting equipment too. Bill’s long suffering wife lived with a honey spinner in the dining room for months and has extraordinary patience when the honey is harvested in the kitchen each year. Harvesting honey is a messy sticky business. Honey seems to get everywhere. His dog loves honey – need I say more. 

This book details Bill’s mishaps and triumphs. He accepts that enthusiasm outweighs his abilities. All that set aside I reckon that Bill is in fact a good beekeeper. He loves his bees and relishes time spent with his colonies. Above all he has managed to write an amusing book about beekeeping that has taught me quite a lot more than the rather dry beekeeping tomes on my bookshelves.

The Bad Beekeeper’s Club is both a brilliant introduction to the world of beekeeping and a must read for anyone who enjoys a well written memoir.

Photo: Daffodils

I much prefer Easter to Christmas. There isn’t the same pressure, generally the sun is shining and there is true evidence of spring. The daffodils are out, the tulips and bluebells are just a breath away from flowering. The new leaves on the trees are that bright, squeaky clean spring green.

The birds wake me early. Singing to attract a mate for the summer. We have hung fat balls on the rose bush outside the kitchen window and marvel at the succession of birds that visit, wary and fleetingly to feed.

Our pond is full of frog spawn as the annual frog fest has finally run its course. We had the biggest ever turn out this year – there must have been over a hundred frogs in the pond. Where do the frogs go after there amorous frolics? Hopefully the majority stay in our garden to eat the greedy slugs and snails.

One of our colonies of bees survived the winter. We will split this colony into two using a Snelgrove board. This year we are going to pull all stops out to manage our hives. Suddenly our beekeeping has to move from a hobby to another stream of income. Properly labelled it is legal to sell our honey on the gate side stand. We are going for comb honey as it is so difficult to get hold of so sells for a premium. I will be using this excellent free software resource to help me manage our small apiary.

Seraphina is hosting Easter lunch today. She will serve lamb – traditional for Easter in our family. With home made mint sauce – Seraphina’s mint grows really well in a pot beside her French windows. Sob.

The flowering shrubs that we used for our Easter tree are gradually opening but the beech twigs are still dozing.

Danny has lots of his favourite chocolate to scoff and I have more ranunculus bulbs for the garden. Perfect.

Happy Easter everyone.

Photo: Nucleus hive

One of my earliest activities as a novice beekeper was also my scariest few hours.
I had been helping out on the Cambridge Bee Keeping Association stall at a country fair. One of my co-helpers suggested that I might like to collect a free new colony from his apiary after the fair.
“That’s if you are ready. With all your frames built?”

I was both thrilled and terrified. I had completed the long CBKA course, built my hive and bought my bee suit. All I needed were the bees. If I took these I would be one of the first in my class to get my own bees and they would have all summer to build into a strong colony. On the other hand, one of the reasons I had decided to take up beekeeping was to try to overcome my fear of flying insects. Now was the time to bite the bullet. I tried to look calm and confident.
“Yes I’m ready to go. The only thing is that I’m dropping by to have tea with my mum. Will the bees be alright in the car?”
“They will be fine.”

So later that afternoon we drove in convoy to the old orchard where the beekeeper kept his hives. We walked through the long wet grass to a big semi circle of hives. On the top of one hive was a Nucleus hive (Nuc). These are small five frame hives that are used to create new colonies of bees.

He carefully put a piece of foam to block up the entrance hole and we tramped back to the cars. As he put the Nuc into my car a waft of bees escaped from the lid.
“I wonder where they came from.” He mused. He gave me his card. “Let the bees settle for a few days and then transfer them to your hive. Return the Nuc to the Bee hut. Ring me if you have any problems.”

I stopped for a brief cup of tea at my mum’s house. When I opened her front door to leave I noticed a movement in the car. There were bees on the inside of the windows.
“You can’t drive home in a car full of bees. If one stings you all the others will and then you could die.”
On the course I had learnt that bees can smell fear. And this makes them more likely to sting. I thought it best not to mention this to my mother.

I reached for the beekeeper’s number. He was very laid back.
“Zip up your rain jacket and put up the hood. It’s unlikely that they will sting you. If it all gets too much open the car windows and they will be swept out. ”

Not wanting to take a chance I opened the car windows and the bees flew out. Then I battened down the hatches and we inched our way through the heavy Cambridge traffic. By the time we reached the motorway and were gliding swiftly home more bees had escaped from the Nuc. They were exploring the foot well and batting against the windscreen. Bees like to crawl upwards. Would they climb inside my jeans and up my legs? When I noticed that a posse of bees were crawling up my arms I’d had enough. Thank goodness for electric windows. The car was cleared of bees in seconds.

Eventually I got home. Danny was waiting in the drive with my beesuit and gloves. I stepped out of the car in a waft of bees, wobbly with tears of relief. Miraculously I hadn’t been stung and still had some bees. Later that day I discovered there was a hole in the cover board under the roof and I vowed never to collect bees again without wearing a beesuit, boots and gloves.