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Urban beekeeping

Honey monsters

City dwellers cultivate a taste of the country

WHEN Camilla Goddard first started to keep bees in London, it was difficult to find places away from anxious neighbours or teenage vandals.

Nine years later she has hives all over the city: in parks, churchyards, primary schools and on the roofs of hotels.

She collects swarms from people's attics and sells honey at her local shop. A hobby has become a thriving business.

Apiculture is fashionable. Since 2008 membership of the British Beekeepers Association (BBKA) has almost doubled, to 24,000 people.

Around 1,500 are in London. Courses in the capital are always buzzing, says Angela Woods, an enthusiast.

Despite the stereotype of beekeepers as luxuriantly bearded eccentrics, many newbies are young—women are particularly keen.

The boom was partly a by-product of worries about bees and awareness of the huge benefits they bring.

Colonies in many countries have been suffering mysterious sudden collapses since 2006.

Urban eco-warriors found beekeeping an appealing practical outlet for their angst.

Businesses, keen for green plaudits, also leapt on the trend.

Fortnum & Mason, London's poshest department store, has hives on its roof (this newspaper, a neighbour, does not—yet).

Hives fit snugly in London gardens and bees seem to like city life. In the concrete jungle pesticides are rare.

Nectar surprisingly abounds, and not just in gardens: parks have waterlilies and other exotic plants.

Brambles and wild flowers line railway tracks. Chestnut trees give honey from Greenwich a heavy, nutty taste;

bees that feed on rose bushes in Regent's Park produce an almost inedibly aromatic gloop.

London is not yet flowing with honey. Membership growth has slowed at the BBKA.

The cost of hives has risen. Green types are planting bee-friendly gardens instead of hosting apiaries of their own.

And the harsh winter of 2012, which killed around a third of all the colonies in Britain, has put some beginners off.

Busy Londoners want to connect with nature, says Ms Woods. But without the sting of disappointment.