Bee-Keeping in London
There are many persons now in this noisy city pent, who frequently remember the days of childhood, when, among pastures of clover, or amidst flowery heath and woodlands, they listened to the cheerful hum of bees. Partly from a desire to revive these old associations, and also from a natural liking for the tendance of living creatures, such persons would be glad to keep bees if they thought it possible to do so in London or its suburbs with any chance of success. We do not wonder that many should doubt even the possibility of bees feeding themselves amidst such an “endless meal of brick;” but we can easily prove that bees, if not placed too near to smoky chimneys, are able to produce honey, both for themselves and for their masters. To make this plain, we will mention some special instances of metropolitan bee-keeping.
About ninety years ago, a Mr. Wildman kept a bee-house and honey warehouse, near to Middle Row, Holborn. He was not only a tradesman, but was also the apiarian of his day. He kept hives of thriving bees on the roof of his house in Holborn, and many of the nobility and gentry used to mount thither, in order to inspect the apiary. At that period, St. Pancras was a “village two miles north-west of London,” and what is now the Regent’s Park was open country. It was then much easier for London bees to find their favourite forage, but Mr. Wildman believed that his hives were filled with stores from a considerable distance. Whilst enjoying his country rambles on Hampstead Heath, he had a shrewd suspicion that many of the bees he there observed gathering honey were labourers from his own apiary. In order to identify his own flock amongst the rest, he hit upon a homely but very effective expedient. Having borrowed Mrs. Wildman’s “dredging box,” he stationed himself near the entrance of his hives, and gently dusted his bees with flour as they issued forth. He then betook himself to Hampstead, where he found his previous surmise confirmed, for there were numbers of his bees in their livery of white.
Wildman became noted for the remarkable control he obtained over his bees, many instances of which he exhibited before the public. Several of his operations with them were regarded as feats of legerdemain by the uninitiated, as when he appeared before King George III., with a swarm of bees hanging in festoons from his chin, or suspended in a cluster at arm’s length. The Journal of Horticulture recently, in alluding to Wildman, gives the following particulars as to his performances:—
“Near the ‘Three Hats,’ Islington, was a place of popular entertainment called ‘Dobney’s Tea Gardens,’ kept by Mrs. Ann Dobney. These gardens occupied the ground between White Lion Street and Winchester Place, and were established as far back as 1728. In 1771, the house was taken for a short time as a boarding school; but it was soon changed to its original purpose as a place of amusement, for, in 1772, Daniel Wildman exhibited bees here. This is a copy of the advertisement:—
“‘June 20, 1772. Exhibition of bees on horseback! at the Jubilee Gardens, Islington (late Dobney’s), this and every evening, until further notice (wet evenings excepted).
“‘The celebrated Daniel Wildman will exhibit several new and amazing experiments, never attempted by any man in this or any other kingdom before. The rider standing upright, one foot on the saddle and one on the neck, with a mask of bees on his head and face. He also rides standing upright on the saddle with the bridle in his mouth, and, by firing a pistol, makes one part of the bees march over the table, and the other swarm in the air and return to their hive again, with other performances too tedious to insert. The doors open at six; to begin at a quarter before seven. Admittance:—Box and gallery, 2s.; the other seats, 1s.’”
The secret of Wildman’s skilful manipulation is well understood now; it consisted in a careful holding and disposal of the queen, together with confidence in the generally inoffensive disposition of bees. Dr. Evans, whom we have often quoted for his correct information in apiarian matters, thus speaks of his feats:—
“Such was the spell which, round a Wildman’s arm,
Twined in dark wreaths the fascinated swarm;
Bright o’er his breast the glittering legions led,
Or with a living garland bound his head.
His dextrous hand, with firm, yet hurtless hold,
Could seize the chief, known by her scales of gold,
Prune, ’mid the wondering train, her filmy wing,
Or o’er her folds the silken fetter fling.”
To recur to our subject. After the days of Wildman, our own establishment in Holborn became widely known for bee-hives and honey. Although we never attempted to start a London apiary at all approaching in extent that of our predecessor, we have occasionally kept bees on the house-top, both in Holborn and Regent Street. At each of those situations, we have noticed that the bees bring “pollen” as well as honey into their hives. Last summer, there was brought under our notice an illustration of the acuteness of the scent of bees and of their diligent search for food, proving, too, that if sweets can be obtained even from unusual sources, the bees will find them out. A poor woman, who, at the comer of an adjacent street, vends “brandy balls,” “toffee,” “rock,” and other saccharine compounds—all well known to and appreciated by most juveniles,—used to receive frequent visits from our bees. Their visits to the old dame’s domain were at first rather interesting, and if the few pioneers who had the sagacity to find such a store had kept the secret only to themselves, their company would not have been objected to. Such selfish policy does not, however, accord with the social instinct of bees, and these soon informed their companions of the good fortune provided for them in an archipelago of sugar islands. Day by day the swarms of these uninvited visitors increased, until all legitimate customers were beaten off; and the old dame had to see, not only her hope of gain destroyed, but her stock of “goodies” sensibly diminishing by the thefts of these brigands of the air. She could not, or dare not attempt to, drive the intruders away, so made diligent inquiry as to where the robbers were harboured. Having traced them to our establishment in Regent Street, she came to implore of us to move the bees if possible, or she would have to move her stall, and so lose her “connection” in the “toffee” and “rock” trade. Wishing not to hinder the poor woman in gaining her livelihood, we decided on removing our bees into the country.
It is difficult to assign an exact limit to the distance that bees will go in search of honey-yielding blossoms. It has been proved by various experiments that they will fly, say, five or six miles, if the supplies are scanty within a shorter radius; but bees well understand that first of all economies, the saving of time, and if they can find forage near at hand, they prefer it. Hence, other things being equal, the quantity of honey stored will be in proportion to the contiguity of good pasturage. In this way it is that the systematic removal of hives, as practised in many districts, has such a notable effect on the honey harvest.
A novel sight for Londoners to witness occurred in June, 1865. A swarm, having been ordered to be sent into the country the following morning, was temporarily placed on the leads at the back of our house, 149, Regent Street. The sun shining hot on the hive, or some other cause, induced the inmates to decamp. A passer-by called in to inform us that some bees had arrested the progress of a cab. We at once conjectured that they were those of our missing swarm, the absence of which had previously puzzled us not a little; so we sent our man with a straw-hive to bring the truants back, which he succeeded in doing, followed to the door by a crowd, who were amazed at the sight of the “’oney-bees,” as the Cockney lads called them. Cabby had to be compensated for the loss of his fare, for the affrighted passengers had left him in a hurry, so that, altogether, no little commotion was caused—a crowd so soon collects in London streets. Among the lookers-on appears to have been a reporter from the Times newspaper, for, two days afterwards, the following paragraph appeared in the leading journal:—
“A Swarm of Bees in Burlington Street.—On Wednesday afternoon, about five o’clock, not a little excitement and astonishment was caused in New Burlington Street, Regent Street, by the circumstance of a swarm of bees alighting on a cab which had just drawn up at the Burlington Restaurant. A man having procured a hive, set to work, and, with assistance, succeeded in securing the whole of the unexpected visitors, and took them away. A swarm of bees is rarely, if ever, seen in the streets of London, but it is not an uncommon occurrence for a swarm to stray considerable distances.”
The reporter was, of course, unaware that, instead of the bees having “strayed” so far as he represented, they were brought into London by rail, and had made but a short flight from their temporary home.
During several years we kept bees in the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park, and have there frequently taken full and handsome glasses of honey. The position of our apiary was on the site now occupied by the new monkey house. The Society promise to erect a new building for an apiary in the course of the ensuing summer. The visitors to the gardens found considerable, interest in watching the bees in our glass hives, and are now much disappointed at the absence of so entertaining an exhibition. A collection of these hives are now exhibited by the Acclimatisation Society of Great Britain, with living bees in them, at the Fish Department of the Royal Horticultural Gardens, South Kensington.
A gentleman residing in St. James’s Place has, for some considerable time past, kept bees in his garden, there. He uses our improved cottage-hives, and his, bee-keeping is decidedly successful, as he generally takes, some fine glasses, of honey each season, besides, leaving sufficient as winter store for the bees. For a London situation, St. James’s Place is a very favourable one; the gardens behind the houses pleasantly face the Green Park, so that the bees have an uninterrupted flight to start with. They are also within easy range of the richly-flowered gardens of Buckingham Palace and those of the nobility and gentry who reside around the Parks. To those, gardens, the bees of St. James’s Place resort, without waiting for any licence or certificate from the royal and noble owners of the honey-yielding preserves. Being within a short distance of our establishment, when this gentleman’s bees swarm, he generally sends to us for assistance in hiving them.
The neighbourhood of St. John’s Wood and, indeed, almost all the suburbs of London are favourable for the production of honey. We mention St. John’s Wood because, from the fact of having kept bees there ourselves, we are able to prove by experience that they do well in that locality. We have several customers on nearly all sides of the town, who have each had this year a considerable surplus of honey in their “supers,” after leaving sufficient for the: bees themselves, in the lower or stock hives.
We exhibited in our window, in the autumn of 1864, a super of fine honey from the apiary of Mr. Shirley Hibberd, the proprietor and editor of the Gardeners’ Weekly Magazine. It consisted of a box containing 20 lbs. nett weight of honey, and was produced at Stoke Newington, only 3¼ miles from the General Post Office.
The Times’ “Bee-Master,” whose letters from Tunbridge Wells have awakened so much interest in this pleasing pursuit, also commissioned us to exhibit a “super,” produced under his own management in that locality. Mr. S. B. Fox, at Exeter, had, upwards, of 400 lbs; of honey, of excellent quality, though one of his apiaries is quite within the city.
The last has been an excellent honey-yielding season; our own bees, at Dorking, Surrey, have produced us large quantities, and the accounts from nearly all parts of the country coincide in stating that the bees have, in the years 1864 and 1865; enjoyed unusual opportunities for accumulation. In not a few localities, the season of 1863 was even more abundant.