Over in East London, home of the Hoxton Fin, Brick Lane and now our very own Mikey Tomkins, there are serious bee manoeuvres afoot. Not far (as the bee flies) from the Festival Hive it seems some bees have volunteered to share information about their navigational skills with the men in white lab coats. Alarming news at the end of the article that certain species have recently become extinct in the UK. Whatever you do, DON'T LET THE HIVE KNOW. They've got enough to worry about at the moment.
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February 2008
February 27, 2008
February 23, 2008
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.