From A to Bee(26)

Once breakfast was cleared away and Sebastian had been put down for a nap, I went back out. My job was to move the fantastic collection of willow poles I collected while cutting back the willow from our driveway up to the allotment. It felt like such a satisfying job to finally get rid of it from the drive – and as a bonus, serious brownie points earned with 'she who must be obeyed'. As I was offloading my second carload, however, my morning took a turn. Over the brow of the hill came a collie dog. This meant one thing: any second now, the farmer who owned the field would arrive.



Now let me explain the origin of my allotment. Two years ago I dropped a handwritten note into the bungalow at the end of the farm track that we live on. The recipient would be our rather eccentric and scary farmer known as Ray who I had never talked to but had heard lots about. I was requesting a little bit of his land to build my allotment on. Fortunately a week later I received a scribbled note back through the letterbox giving me permission to do so. We agreed a great-sized plot, about the size of a tennis court, which looked perfect and the rest is history; I have been breaking my back ever since trying to make the heavy clay soil workable.



Farmer Ray is an interesting character. His family have been working this land for centuries. He is passionate about chickens (he used to be an egg farmer) and is genuinely someone I would like to get to know but not like to upset. I would guess he is in his mid sixties and though he scares me half to death, he has this aura of being a man of principle and I would certainly invite him to the pub for a pint; for his stories about The Beatles alone.



Let me digress a little bit. When I first met Farmer Ray to discuss which bit of his field I could borrow he started to tell me about his run-ins with The Beatles back in the 1960s. Forgetting my quest momentarily, my ears pricked up to what seemed a bizarre but fascinating story. He started to tell me how they used to drive past his farm on the way to a little shack by the pond nearby for all-night parties with the likes of Jane Asher. It sounded as if they didn't get on too well; he didn't like their convoy of blacked-out Minis and went about stopping them coming up the road, patrolling it with his shotgun.



Apparently he once parked his trailer outside the entrance to the shack, blocking them all in, and he left it there for the weekend 'to teach them a lesson'. This might give you a little insight into the guy I was now dealing with! There can't have been too many people who would have done this to The Beatles at the height of their powers.



He then started telling me how the lyrics in some of their songs were about him (in particular the song 'I Am the Walrus' which contains a line about being the egg man). I thought that quite plausible but wasn't so sure about his claim to the song 'Bungalow Bill' being about him. He does live in a bungalow but surely it should have been 'Bungalow Ray'? But I wasn't about to disagree with him.



Anyway, in past weeks I've been thinking about the possibility of putting my hives onto the allotment so, seeing his collie dog approaching, I thought it could be the perfect time to ask this pretty important question. Putting this into perspective, I have got a hive (arriving on Monday I hope, as it was a little delayed) and I have ordered some bees, not to mention that I have taken a course. My last major stumbling block would be putting them somewhere. If he said no I was pretty stuffed. I couldn't put them in the garden – it just isn't big enough and I couldn't see myself persuading Jo to allow me to put them there. To be honest, with Sebastian, I wouldn't feel comfortable with that anyway.



It was therefore a stroke of luck to meet Farmer Ray randomly like this, so I walked over to him (though it felt like I was on my knees shuffling towards him, much like Smithers does with Mr Burns in The Simpsons) and started to say hello in a rather jovial, nervous manner, paying particular notice to his dog rather than him.



After some small talk I just blurted out something like, 'So, I was thinking, can I have some beehives on your field? I have done a course and everything.' Silence.



'Yes, of course. I love honey and I know bees are in trouble. Any honey you have spare would be appreciated.'



I felt like kissing him and then quickly remembered that this was Farmer Ray and quickly retracted that thought. Three months of concern had just gone out of the window as I now had a destination for my hives.



He bid me farewell and off he went, hobbling across his field (unploughed for 125 years apparently), man's best friend at his side. He had a hip replacement only six weeks ago. Hard as nails is Farmer Ray.



What a lovely man. He has allowed me to grow an allotment on his land and now he is allowing me to have some beehives. I felt elated and realised I must be on his good side.