Golly! This turned into a long one!

Chapter Six

As promised, Sherlock arrived home well before bedtime…specifically, before a certain young lady's bedtime. Violet had always gone to bed perfectly happily and slept right through the night from about six months of age but, unfortunately, that was no longer the case. Bedtime had become something of a flash-point. Which was quite mystifying for everyone because Molly - and later Sherlock - had been most diligent in establishing familiar bedtime routines for each of their brood, only adjusting them gradually, in line with the children's ages and developmental maturity. And up to now, the plan had worked. Neither of the boys had ever had a problem going to bed. So, what was so different this time? What were they not seeing? Many hours of thought and contemplation had gone into the consideration of that question but nothing had sprung to mind.

So, for the time being, especially while Molly was under the weather, Sherlock had made a commitment to be home every evening before Violet went to bed and, so far, so good.

On this particular occasion, Violet went off to bed without a hitch and Sherlock was able to spend some one-to-one time with each of his other children so no one felt left out. But once the house was quiet, he shut himself away in the kitchen, with only Redbeard and the coffee machine for company, and spent much of the night on his laptop or phone, beavering away at the case he had taken. Whatever it was, it had certainly captured his attention. He crawled into bed at around four o'clock in the morning, mumbling an apology for disturbing Molly, and left the house immediately after breakfast to continue his quest.

ooOoo

William was on tenterhooks, standing at the sitting room window, watching for the arrival of Mr Hedges. Almost exactly on the stroke of eleven, the man appeared, wheeling his bicycle through the gate, which he closed firmly behind him. He spotted William and waved, then pushed his bike round to the back of the house. Mr Hedges would never dream of approaching the front door. He always used the 'Tradesman's Entrance'.

William spun around and cantered off through the house, yelling, 'He's here, he's here!' to whoever might be listening, into the Utility Room, where he threw open the back door just as his visitor was leaning his bike against the side of the shed.

'Hello, young William,' Mr Hedges smiled. 'Long time, no see. How are you?'

'I'm very well, thank you, Mr Hedges,' William replied, politely. 'How are you?'

'Oh, no worse than I should be,' the elderly apiarist grunted, enigmatically.

Formalities concluded, William held the back door wide to admit Mr Hedges and the two of them began the elaborate ritual of donning their bee keeping regalia. Mr H had brought his gear in a knapsack, slung across his back...apart from his wellies, which he was already wearing but they had to come off while he got his legs into his bee suit and tucked his ankle cuffs in his socks, then the wellies were back on again. However, neither man nor boy put their arms in the sleeves just yet. That came later in the routine. For now, those were tied around their waists and their gloves went into one of those handy pockets.

Semi-suited, they exited the Utility Room and crossed to the shed, chatting amiably all the while, mostly about bees. From inside the shed, William handed the smoker and the tools caddy out to Mr Hedges then filled the watering can at the outside tap. He knew the water 'trough' would probably still be full but thought he would take the water anyway, just in case.

Meanwhile, Mr Hedges was down on one knee, prepping the smoker. Opening the lid, he scooped up a handful of rotten wood and pine needles and dropped it, loosely, into the bottom of the fire box, not tamping it down, so as to keep it well aerated. Next, he took a sheet of newspaper, folded it in half, rolled it into a cylinder and twisted it to make a wick, one end of which he pushed down into the combustible material. He struck one of William's extra-long matches and lit the other end of the twisted newspaper then closed the conical lid. Immediately, a plume of smoke poured from the nozzle but, as William well knew, this was just from the burning newspaper. It would take a while for the kindling to catch. Mr Hedges waited a moment or two then gave the bellows a gentle squeeze to keep the air flowing through the smoker and get the fire established. By the time they got down to the hive, it would be smouldering away nicely.

Standing up, the old man slung his knapsack over his shoulder, picked up the smoker by the bellows in one hand and the caddy in the other and set off down the garden, leaving William to bring the watering can.

On the edge of the orchard, well before they reached the hive, they both stopped and put down their burdens. William was about to complete his suiting up – gloves on, arms in sleeves, suit zipped up, hood on and zipped, flap pressed down – but Mr Hedges held up a hand, causing him to pause.

'Before you do that, young fella, we need to check if it's warm enough to open this hive today.'

William was puzzled. He'd checked the weather app. The forecast for East Smithfield was 13C. Mr H read his mind.

'Oh, the weather man might say it's warm enough but he's not here in your garden, is he?'

William shook his head and watched in mild surprise as Mr Hedges took hold of the back collar of his jumper and pulled it straight off, leaving himself in just a T-shirt. William couldn't help but notice how skinny the old man's arms were and how loosely the wrinkled skin hung on them. But Mr H was speaking again.

'Would you want to stand here in your shirt sleeves for half an hour, young fella?' he asked.

William, after a moment's hesitation, followed his mentor's example and pulled off his jumper, feeling the easterly breeze against his bare arms. Although the sun was bright out on the lawn, here under the trees, even with just the blossom buds and no leaves, it felt distinctly chilly.

'No, I don't think I would,' he admitted, after a few seconds' pondering, and pulled his sweater back on, as did the old man.

'Quite right,' Mr Hedges nodded. 'so, we maybe won't be doing a full inspection but…' he added, as he could see William's disappointment, 'there's a lot of things we need to do for our first Spring inspection that doesn't involve opening all the doors and windows and letting the wind blow through our poor bees' house!.'

And, with that, they both set to, completing their suiting up.

'Oops! Mustn't forget my glasses!' Mr H exclaimed, just before zipping up his hood. His spectacles were hanging by a cord around his neck. He hooked them over his ears and nose, winked and closed his hood, then cast an approving eye over the location.

'This is a fine spot for a bee hive,' he declared. 'Any complaints from the neighbours?' William knew exactly why Mr Hedges was asking that question and it was nothing to do with stinging.

When Sherlock and Molly first made enquiries of the local bee keepers' association about hosting a hive, it was in secret as they wanted to surprise William with the hive on his birthday. The Chair of the Association and Mr Hedges had come to look over their property to see if it was a suitable site. It was they who suggested placing it in the middle of the orchard, facing away from the house and they had explained why.

'Always position your hive facing away from the direction of approach,' the Chair had said. 'That way, when you walk up to it or stand next to it, you won't be likely to get in the way of the bees, coming and going. And never stand directly in front of your hive – unless you're doing something that necessitates it, like fitting a wasp guard or something – otherwise, you'll soon find your back is covered in bees!' Both men had laughed heartily at that notion.

'And, what you must bear in mind,' Mr Hedges took up the narrative, 'is if your bees have been inside the hive for any length of time – whether that be over night or, heaven forbid, confined for several days by bad weather – the first thing they will want to do when they emerge is go to the toilet.' He paused, scrutinising Sherlock and Molly's features. They both looked blank as to his meaning - even Sherlock could not come up with anything cogent – so the man went on.

'If your hive entrance were facing next door's garden, when your bees come flying out, where are they going to be doing their business? And, be assured, they won't defecate right outside their own front door. They'll be straight up and over that hedge, there, and what's on the other side but Mrs Jones's washing line, full of her best weekly whites.'

Sherlock was momentarily distracted, trying to place 'Mrs Jones', but Molly got the drift. She didn't have the heart to tell these two venerable gentlemen that the hipster next-door neighbours sent all their laundry 'out of house' but she took the point. They might well be exercising in their garden gym or enjoying a breakfast of crushed avocado on toast with an almond latte, out on the lawn. And being showered with bee pooh would not go down well at all.

'No, no complaints from the neighbours,' William replied, grinning at the memory of Mummy telling that tale. 'In fact, the neighbours asked if they can taste some of the honey, when we harvest it,' he added.

'I bet they did,' Mr Hedges huffed, knowingly. 'And it'll be the best honey they ever tasted, too. Not like anything they'll find in a supermarket. For a start, it won't be pasteurised. It'll be raw, straight from the bee.'

By now they had reached the hive and placed all the equipment on the ground.

'Right, let's have a look,' said Mr Hedges.

First of all, he leant to the side to study the activity around the hive entrance. There were quite a few bees coming and going, crawling about on the landing board, waiting for their turn to enter the hive or touching each other, passing on information.

'Well, we've certainly got an active hive,' Mr Hedges confirmed. Some hives did fail over the Winter and, when that happened, it was important to try and establish why, in case it was due to disease, such as Nosema, which was caused by a fungus. Happily, William already knew his hive was live.

'Now, before we do anything else, we need to change the floor…Oh, bugger!' Mr H exclaimed then quickly turned to William to excuse himself. 'Pardon my French, young William, but my memory is not what it used to be. I forgot to bring the spare floor from the shed.'

The 'floor' was a board that slid into a slot at the base of the hive and caught everything that dropped through, so it didn't land on the ground and attract unwanted attention from other creatures. At the end of the Winter, this needed to be changed for a clean one and the dirty one taken away, cleaned and scorched with a blow torch, to disinfect it so it could be used again.

'That's alright, Mr Hedges,' William piped up. 'I can get it,' and he scurried back up the garden to the shed, returning a few moments later with the spare floor, which he leant against the side of the hive.

William squatted down behind the hive, grasped the front edge of the old 'floor' and drew it out, very carefully, so as not to spill anything from it onto the ground. He turned to Mr Hedges so they could both take a look at what was on it. William knew one could tell a lot about the health of a colony by looking at the 'floor'.

There was quite a bit of debris from the Winter months, mostly a fine, brown grit, but also some old wax caps from honey cells, broken off by members of the colony to feed from the honey in the cell. There were also a few drops of moisture present, a product of the bees' respiration over the Winter. Mr Hedges studied the debris closely then nodded, confirming that there was nothing to cause concern.

'Here,' said the old man, holding open a large plastic bin bag that he had taken from his knapsack while William was on his errand. 'Put it in here and we'll take it away when we're done.' One couldn't clean the board right there, next to the hive, as it would contaminate the area. So, as instructed, William lowered the floor board carefully into the bag, tied up the top and put it to one side. Then he took the clean board and slid it into the slot.

'Now, April can be a very dangerous month for bees,' Mr Hedges began. 'They might have survived the Winter but, if honey stocks are low, they can still starve, especially if we get a spell of bad weather and they can't get out to forage.'

William nodded, sagely. He'd read this in his book.

'So, first things first, let's see how they are for stores.' He nodded at William and said, with a grin, 'Get on with it, then.'

William took the smoker and, lifting one corner of the hive roof, gave a little puff of smoke under the edge then lowered it down again. This would alert the bees to their presence and trigger them to move down inside the hive. After a moment's pause, Mr Hedges grasped the roof with both hands and lifted it right off, placing it upside down on the ground beside the hive. This would provide a platform, a place to rest anything they needed to remove from the hive.

'Now, remember, we need to be quick. But that doesn't mean rushing. Smooth and steady. Off you go,' Mr Hedges nodded, again.

William passed the smoker to Mr H and took his hive tool from its special pocket, slid the chamfered end under the edge of the crown board and gently levered it loose from the top box. Mr H moved in with the smoker and gave a few little puffs under the edge of the crown board then William took hold of the board and lifted it clear of the hive, turning it over to see what was on the other side. There was quite a bit of brace comb, where the bees had sealed the crown board to the top bars of the frames, and a small number of bees were crawling about, tending to their duties within the colony, but nothing unusual to note, so William leant the crown board against the side of the hive.

Mr Hedges was already wafting a few puffs of smoke across the tops of the frames, encouraging any bees present – of which there weren't that many, if truth be told - to move down into the hive. Using the chamfered end of the tool again, William broke the propolis seal between the first two frames so he could begin to remove the first one. Switching to the hooked end of the tool, he levered up an end peg of the first frame and, gently, eased it out. This was a solid piece of wood, a dummy board, holding a place in the hive to make access easier for the bee keeper. William leant the dummy board against the crown board, then repeated the action with his hive tool on the next frame and gently removed it. This was a foundation frame, drawn out with comb, and William held it up to the light so both he and Mr Hedges could have a good look.

'Ah, that's old comb, from the winter stores,' Mr H observed, 'and most of that honey is granulated, see?' He drew his hive tool across the top of the comb to break the caps and William could see that the honey was solid inside. 'Once the honey goes solid, the bees can't use it,' the old man added. 'Let's have a look at the other side.'

William turned the frame over. The other side was basic foundation with a small patch of drawn out comb but otherwise bare.

'Right-oh,' said Mr Hedges, 'lay that frame on top of the hive. It'll keep some of the warmth in and the light out and keep the bees down inside, too.'

William did as he was told.

'Right, let's just move some of these frames along and have a look in the middle of this box,' Mr Hedges instructed, whilst puffing smoke across the top of the frames again.

William used the hook to manoeuvre three frames along to the end, giving access to the centre of the box. He levered one frame out and lifted it up in the air.

'Hmm,' Mr H mused. 'Old honey again. Some still liquid but quite a bit of it granulated. And here's a bit of pollen, so these bees are working on your Spring flowers.'

The old man paused, ruminating on something, then said,

'You know what, young William, I think the best thing we can do is remove this super. There aren't many bees up here, which tells me they're mostly down in the brood box, concentrating their efforts down there. Most of this honey is unusable so rather than giving them the job of getting rid, we'll do it for them.'

With a decisive nod, Mr H handed the smoker to William and began to break the seal between the honey super and the brood box. He levered it free all the way around then, taking hold either side of the box, lifted it off the hive. As soon as he had it in the air he began nodding, sagely.

'Ah, there, you see,' he began, 'remember last Autumn, when we closed up the hive? What did we do? Can you remember?'

William could remember a lot of things but wasn't quite sure which 'thing' Mr Hedges was referring to.

'It begins with an 'H',' Mr H added, helpfully.

'Oh! We hefted the boxes!' William exclaimed.

'We did! Well done!' Mr Hedges chuckled.

'Hefting' was what a bee keeper did to estimate how much honey there might be inside a hive without opening it up. And it was exactly what it sounded like – you lifted the box where the honey was stored and compared the 'heft' with what it had been the last time you 'hefted'.

Comparing it in his mind to the weight of countless other boxes that he had hefted in many previous Springs. Mr Hedges knew that this box contained very little honey. He bent over and rested it gently on the upside-down roof, placing it slightly askew so that it sat on top of the lips, not inside the hollow.

'Right, we'll deal with that later,' he grunted. 'Let's get on with the real business of the day. We need to know if this colony still has a queen and whether or not she's laying.'

ooOoo

This chapter was getting rather unwieldy so I decided to split it. But that's good news! Because it means the next one is already half written!