Country Life
By IAN NIALL
WE bought some honey the other day, and this reminded me that my grandfather was a successful bee-keeper, a thing I cannot claim to be, which is to my shame. When I arrived at the old man's knee he deemed me old enough to be his apprentice in bee-keeping. When he smoked a hive I was there at his heels, clothed in hat and veil, handing up tools or holding them. When the bees swarmed I Was there too, for small boys are capable of Making more than their own volume in sound. I didn't like being stung, however, although the old man didn't bat an eyelid when this happened to him, and it was, perhaps, not unnatural that I put off keeping bees until later In life. In fact, I had nothing to do with them until a few years ago when a swarm settled in a tree outside my house. Environment, it is said, is a prime influence in a man's conduct. I went out and took the swarm. It wasn't housed in the garden but ended up in what Was to become an apiary over at the cottage. I am, I suppose, a sort of remote-control bee-fancier. No honey has come my way yet. A bad summer, a cold winter, depleted stocks -all the excuses for failure are ours. Bee- keeping may be hereditary, but honey- Producing, ah, that depends on the bees!
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