Royal Festival Hive

Beez Meanz Stingz (sometimes)

The day begins with a couple of slices of toast covered in John’s London Honey from last season. It has a great consistency - not quite set, not quite runny. West London’s finest. Delicious. 

Up on the roof, Mikey peers in. Not much activity, although a couple of bees do poke their heads out before returning to the warmth inside. 

John fires up the trusty smoker and rolls up his sleeves. 

Not a good move as it turned out, those exposed forearms proved an irresistible stinging opportunity for at least 7 bees not best pleased to be disturbed on a damp February morning. These are John’s first stings of the season - he hasn’t begun inspecting his own bees yet. But when he takes a good look inside we’ve got 4 frames of brood, which means that as far as the bees are concerned, the season has begun. Spring has arrived in the beehive! Amazing when you think that only a couple of weeks ago there was a foot of snow on the ground. Perhaps they’ve been fooled by the sunshine last weekend, but John explains that mahonia, crocuses and  willow  are all in flower and the bees will already be out collecting pollen (nectar doesn’t flow until we hit 15 degrees C, so we might have a little wait for that). 

Something has been bothering me since the last visit so on the way down we have a proper ‘birds and bees’ conversation. I want to know how if the hive is completely female over the winter the queen can begin laying again in the spring. It turns out the queen is fertilised only once in her life and keeps the love within her from then on. I don’t quite understand this bit, but Mikey reckons a male bee (a drone, or unfertilised egg) has a grandfather but not a father. A grandfather but not a father? And the females have a father? Oh, i get it. No, no, i’ll have to have a bit more of a think.

New Year, New Honey

The first visit of the New Year is traditionally a slightly nerve racking one. I’m really not sure whether we’ll find a hive full of dead bees. When we arrive there are no bees in flight but it is bitterly cold so John reckons they’re inside keeping warm. He and Mikey lift off the roof for the first time in 09 

And will a little help from the trusty crowbar manage to dislodge the propolised inner lid. At this point a few bees took to the air and one landed on Mikey’s ear. I was so busy removing it with the aid of his hat that i missed the shot of the bees inside, but there were plenty of them and they seemed fairly happy considering someone had just let all the heat out. 

John dripped a weak solution of Oxalic Acid (made from rhubarb leaves) on to 7 frames of bees, and then quickly covered them up again. 

There was food in there from their own stores, which means they’re still eating the honey they made during last year. Winter bees live from October to February apparently, and it’s a completely female colony at the moment. 

In the sprit of new years resolutions it has been decided (in consultation with the hive of course) that now we’ve established it’s possible for bees to live surrounded by concrete and culture, we’re going to up the ante and go for award glory. This season we’re aiming for 1st prize for Best Honey in the London classes at the National Honey Show in October. Rosettes shall be ours. 

Great news today as we drank tea downstairs afterwards - Mikey recently became a father and told us that he and Jules have decided to give their daughter ‘Honey’ as a middle name. Now there’s dedication for you. "Put that on the Blob" said John, so I have. 

The Bees Done Stung Me Boss

On today’s visit Mikey is looking fresh as he busts out his photo taking moves. Just after this one he moonwalked over to the hive. Sadly the bees didn't appreciate his display and one of them stung him on the cheek. He disappeared inside to rub vinegar on the wound.

While John inspects the frames Bert holds up a piece of comb from inside the lid. It has a touch of the Winehouse about it. Or maybe Marge Simpson.

John walks over with another frame of the good stuff. Bee Number 367456 is keeping an eye on him as Bert dips a finger in. She is not impressed.

Later, as we take our customary tea downstairs afterwards, John pulls out a jar full of Festival Hive Honey. The first one. It’s quite an emotional moment.

Mikey is definitely a little moist around the eyes, but that’s probably because the sting is coming up and he’s got a shiner.

We’re going to have a party to thank the bees for sharing their honey with us. Details to follow.

Bees In The Trees

After a flurry of visits at the start of the month it had been a while since i visited the roof, but there has been a great deal of bee activity in my absence. Oh yes. A GREAT DEAL of bee activity.

Bert and i went along on a bright Sunday morning in early May to record the most splendid Their Hearts Were Full of Spring sing to the bees. The band not only turned up en masse, but brought flowers and other offerings for their audience.

They sang. It was a beautiful day. All was good in the world of the hive. And then, as the temperature rose and we turned to leave, bees began to pour out of the front of the hive. Not just a few, not just dozens, but literally hundreds of bees were coming out of the hive. Bert and I took refuge inside and watched from a fifth floor function room. It was quite a sight as bees filled the air. Thousands of them.

Even with my limited beekeeping knowledge, it was clear we had a swarm on our hands. I called John, who as chance would have it was giving a beekeeping course nearby at Roots & Shoots community garden. I drove over to pick him up, and armed with a cardboard box we returned to tame the renegades. By now they had clustered in comic book fashion in the tree between the Queen Elizabeth Hall and the Hayward Gallery. Mark from security looked on nervously.

John decided his shinning up trees days were over so we returned to the roof where he inspected the hive for more queens in case it happened again. And then as we looked across at the tree an extraordinary thing happened. The swarm took flight en masse, flew high above the QEH in a dark cloud and then literally vanished. We searched fruitlessly for an hour or so but they had disappeared completely.

Our hive had divided, like an amoeba splitting in two, and half of our bees had flown the nest. I took it a little personally. John explained that swarming is a natural part of the hive’s life cycle. It’s the way that bees reproduce and multiply - they collectively decide that half will move on and set up a new home. It reminded me of picking teams in the playground at school. Who goes and who stays behind? Why had they left us behind?

If that had been the end of it, the episode would have remained a footnote in the Duty Manager’s report. But the bees had other plans.

A few days later i had a call from Security. The bees had resurfaced, were clustered around the main entrance to the QEH, and had started making a nuisance of themselves. John couldn’t get over in time so we called the London Beekeepers Association Swarm Hotline and Clive, professional installer of showers and finest swarm man in London, came to the rescue. The previous day he had managed to catch three swarms in the space of an hour. But after battling with our swarm all afternoon even Clive had to admit defeat. “These bees don’t want to be caught” he said breathlessly when i called up to hear the good news. And then they disappeared again.

The next time security called I was even further away and less able to attend. Luckily this time Kenny M from the Festival Hive press office was on hand to offer running commentary and Phil H snapped the unfolding developments on his phone and sent updates. The bees had chosen the afternoon before a Hayward Gallery press private view to split into 4 (count them) groups and take to the tree once more.

We called in reinforcements. Barnaby from Walworth Garden Farm sped over and bravely volunteered to go up into the tree. SBC security had by this point closed down the road and the stage crew wheeled out a cherry picker. Barnaby precariously ascended 30 feet into the branches no less than three times and took the clusters down with the aid of his trusty old cardboard box and a sheet. One remained, far out of reach at the top of a lamp post but Clive returned the following day to mop up the stragglers.

Barnaby took the bees away to his apiary in Kennington, so they haven’t gone far. As far as i know nobody got stung throughout the whole episode(s) but after all the inconvenience we’ve had to explain to the bees in no uncertain terms that IT CANNOT HAPPEN AGAIN and they (and John) have given the strongest possible assurances that it wont.

Why did the bees swarm? Perhaps the queen was older than we had thought. Perhaps against all expectations they were doing too well up there on the roof. However, the fact remains we’ve got half the bees we used to have. To make matters worse when John and I visited the hive last week, there was no sign of a new queen. This means no new eggs, no new bees, and dwindling honey reserves. Reading the hive John thinks that a princess emerged, went on a mating flight and never returned. He will examine the hive in a week's time and if there is no sign of eggs beig laid we'll have to introduce a new queen.

All of this has seriously affected our honey producing capabilities, not to say the goodwill of everyone involved. It may seem obvious, but the hive is a living thing. I think we all suddenly realised just how living it is. Nature has a way of being unpredictable and not following straight lines or staying in boxes, and this was a very good reminder of that. I’ve started treating the honey i put in my tea with greater respect.

(Huge thanks to SBC security for keeping their cool and if you ever need the services of Clive or the London Beekeepers Association Swarm Team give them a call on 07922 147379 and they’ll come out free of charge. Can’t say fairer than that.)

Visit to another hive

A trip outside the big smoke to see some bees of a more rural persuasion. Retired GP John H is a beekeeper of many years standing and kindly offered to show me round his hives during their first post winter inspection. I took the opportunity of being fully kitted up in beekeeping attire to take a quick self portrait. Proper beekeeper styles innit.

I was very glad to be wearing all that protection. I’ve always kept a respectful distance from the Festival Hive bees, so it was mighty disconcerting to have large numbers of bees flying at my head intent upon scaring me off.

John lifted the lid on one of the hives and discovered that the bees had been busy creating beautiful comb patterns on the underside.

He also showed me the Varroa mite which some think could be responsible for Colony Collapse Disorder.

When we’d finished up we took the comb inside. I dipped a finger in the honey that was oozing out onto the lid. It tasted amazing.

A Moving Experience

What a day. Without warning John strapped them up and the hive and its residents took a short trip to the more northerly aspect of the roof nearest the Thames as the bees embraced the demands of public life. Never one to shy away from quite literally shouldering his fair share of responsibilities, Kenny M from the Royal Festival Hive Press Office manfully took up position on the front corner, and between him and John the hive was moved (without injury to human or bee) to a new temporary position overlooking the London Eye and Big Ben. Everyone else maintained a safe distance throughout.

John carefully took out a frame:

and to the delight of the assembled we were afforded the first glimpse ever of our Queen, who kept a watchful eye on her loyal subjects (us) as the rest of the bees went about their morning constitutionals. That’s John’s finger, with the Queen visible to the right. The camera was on a long zoom.

The hive is in full flow, and John estimates some 15,000+ bees. In fact there are getting to be so many now it’s becoming harder and harder to remember each of their names.

April Fool's Day

For once the sun is shining when we visit the roof.

John gives us the lowdown on the life of a bee inside the hive. The season’s new workers are being produced and the brood nest is currently expanding. The class of April will spend their first five days on housekeeping duties, cleaning cells ready for new eggs to be laid. Then they’re promoted to other duties like guarding the hive and looking after the queen, and producing new wax which is used for building and repairing the comb. At the age of about 15 days, they will start to take training flights to learn where the hive is. Once they’ve mastered this the more experienced forager bees will instruct them (via the waggle dance) where to find pollen, nectar and water. Then they’ll be foragers until they die. Hopefully they’ll die on the wing, so the bodies don’t have to be taken out and disposed of. Most bees die away from the hive - they’re born surrounded by other bees, and they die alone. The bees born now might live a couple of months. In the summer they work so hard the life expectancy drops to 4 or 5 weeks.

This bee was in rude health, and made a smooth landing on Phil H's head in order to welcome him to the team.

Today the bees had all kinds of microphones pointed at them. First of all by Bert who used a solar panel to record the modulations of light interrupted by their beating wings as they crossed the hive threshold.

Then by Mark Aitken, who had been turned in to a bee and flew over from Borough High Street to find out about living conditions on the roof for his gardening show on Resonance FM.

On a more serious note, today John discovered that his staff pass doesn’t qualify him for reduced rates on cups of tea in the RFH cafe. Watch out Hilary, he’d like to have words.

The Bee Boys

Here is a photo of the “Bee Boys” as Hilary C. described the motley crew who visited the hive today. Right to left: John, Master of the Beekeeping Universe. Bert, who designed and built the hive, and Mikey (in tweed) who turns up every now and again and pretends to be involved. I’m sure you’ll agree, the selection of fine headgear is notable.

Whilst waiting in reception to go up to the roof Eddy S, Southbank Centre Technical Director, passed by. When he found out what we were doing, he told us his grandfather was the gamekeeper/manager of a large country estate and used to keep bees. Eddie once saw a hive swarm up his grandfather’s trouser leg. His grandfather tied the trousers with string and then smoked the bees out later. What a guy.

Apparently John was on TV this week in a National Geographic documentary about (whisper it) colony collapse disorder. We’ll try and find a clip to upload.

John complains that i only seem to choose wet or cold days to visit the hive, and today was no exception. It was blowing an icy wind up on the parapets.

Once through the traditional rigmarole of security clearances we made our way out onto the skyline. After some nimble work with the microscope last week John had diagnosed nosema. Here is what wikipedia has to say on the subject:

Nosema apis is a spore-forming parasite that invades the intestinal tracts of adult bees and causes nosema disease. Nosema is normally only a problem when the bees can not leave the hive to eliminate waste (for example, during an extended cold spell in winter or when the hives are enclosed in a wintering barn). When the bees are unable to void (cleansing flights), they can develop dysentery.

When John lifted the lid we were mighty relieved to find the bees not only still here, but looking busy. John treated the hive while we snapped pictures like the beekeeping tourists that we are. Mikey took the opportunity to adopt a downhill skiing position in front of the hive:

Both he and John seemed generally happy with the number of bees, and their relative liveliness, after the scare of last time. Lets hope the weather stabilizes and starts to warm up.

We learn something new on each visit. Today John told us that he made more money last year selling drones to an upmarket Oriental restaurant in London (who apparently have invited him to eat but not for free) than he did from selling honey. Apparently they give him 10p per bee. They’re either fried in a light batter and served as a starter or used to decorate the top of creme caramel. The men get all the tough breaks in the bee world. Rest assured, our drones aint for eatin’. (AH)

Our Fallen Comrades

“The bees should be flying today” says John as we wait at the Southbank Centre Artist’s Entrance for our security escort. It is a nice bright day, and the sky is clear. I feel the usual sense of excitement at seeing the bees again, mixed with the dread we always try to laugh away that something terrible has happened and we will find an empty hive. John explains that the bees in the hive have been there all winter.

“They’re old, by bee standards, and this is a vulnerable time for the hive. The older bees begin dying off around now, and the spring bees are not ready yet”.

Food is a concern. He has brought more candy (inverted sugar) to keep up the energy levels.

“We’ll be able to tell a lot without looking inside. If we see pollen on their legs, that will mean there are young bees and the Queen is laying. They’ll have found a source of food.”

He is upbeat.

Anthony arrives and takes us up in the lift. We find they have installed a proper set of steps so access to the roof is easier than usual. London looks beautiful from up here. It’s feels like an immense privilege every time we come up and I wonder if the bees feel the same.

As we turn the corner, we realise something is wrong. There are no bees flying in and out of the entrance.

John falls quiet as he jumps down. We approach the hive. As we do, we notice a trail of small bodies. They are laid out in an arc which stretches back from the hive to the edge of this section of the roof. This is obviously their flight path, the route they take out into the world, and it is littered with dead bees.

We take a closer look. John gently picks up a bee and, cupping it in his hands, blows on it.

“Sometimes when they’re cold you can revive them with warm air”. The bee doesn’t move.

I kneel down. Some of the bees have pollen on their legs. These little workers had been out collecting and never made it back to base. It looks like a miniature scene of destruction from a war movie - the bees resemble burnt out aircraft which have been destroyed by enemy fire and all that remains is remains.

“This doesn’t like good” I say.

John points at the ice covering a pool of water in the corner of the roof. He makes his way over to the hive and takes the lid off.

It could all end here.

He pulls off the hive’s roof and props it against the real RFH roof.

He slides back the inner lid long enough for us to see that although depleted, there are bees.

He examines the outside of the hive more closely. It is covered in tiny flecks of bee pooh. I am just relieved we still have a hive on our hands, but it is obviously not as healthy as it should be.

“They may have dysentery. We’ll need to bring antibiotics”

John closes everything up. He collects some dead bees to take home and examine under a microscope to try and find out what has happened.

He finds one which has signs of life and scoops it up for another dose of warm air resuscitation.

This time it works, and the bee starts to walk across his hand. We've managed to save one.

John places the survivor back at the entrance to the hive as I quietly take some pictures. We leave. The mood is subdued.

New Beginnings

The first visit of the new year. The rather wonderful Hilary C sorted out our permission slips and we picked them up from the artists entrance on our hive visit today. We can officially access the roof of the Royal Festival Hall between 09.00 and 16.00 Mon-Fri.

The bees seem to have spent an uneventful Christmas and New Year, although i’m sure they were pleasantly entertained by the Super Furries playing on the ballroom six floors below. I’m not sure what they made of the fireworks on the Thames.

John Chapple, beekeeper extraordinaire, brought some candy (apparently the same white goo used to coat sticky buns) to keep up the hive’s energy levels.

The bees hadn’t clustered, which means that if it stays mild they will start breeding soon and the queen will begin laying. And then we’re off.