Bees are in my blood - well, almost...

I came into this world at Westbury Station, on 5th Oct 1943, to the accompaniment of the whistle of of the 12.15 steam train from Shrewsbury to Welshpool.
I wasn`t actually born on the platform or even the passenger waiting room. My grandfather, Cyril, you see, was the Station Master, and my mother lived in the station house with Cyril and my grandmother Jessie. My father, Fred, was away in Burma, engaged in various battles with our then enemies, the Japanese. Up to his neck in swamps, jungles and no doubt bullets. Some people will do anything to escape the wailings of a new born baby!
My paternal grandparents were farmers in Preston Brook, Cheshire. Lower Eanley Wood Farm was the place. My father was the youngest of 4 brothers William, Harry, and James. My grandfather was William and my grandmother was Henrietta. They also had a daughter called Jessie who sadly died, quite young, many years ago.
When I was 4 years old we moved from Westbury to live at Lower Eanley Wood, where my father rejoined the family farm on his return from the war.
It was actually in the village of Norton, in the valley below Norton Water Tower, a landmark that exists today. The farm land was bounded to the south east, by the Warrington to Chester Railway alongside the Bridgewater Canal which hugged the contour halfway up the Hill known as Red Brow.
The canal passed through Preston Brook tunnel to Dutton, where it became the Trent and Mersey, at the Dutton stop lock. Between Preston Brook and our farm, a real canal junction existed, with an iron roving bridge to allow towing horses to change from one towpath to another without casting off. This junction was known as the Runcorn Arm and wound its way around the contour 6 miles to Runcorn and then down via a flight of locks to join the River Mersey and the Manchester Ship Canal. This gave an uninterupted lock free pound from Runcorn to Wigan via Manchester. Our land continued to the west, beyond the canal and around the back of the old canal warehouse complex, with a dirt track known as the Cow Lane from Preston Brook directly to the farm over the first hump back bridge on the Runcorn Arm. The land to the right of the arm to the next bridge (Norton Bridge) by Juddy Williams` Cottage, was also in our occupation.The canal was built by James Brindley to the instructions of the Duke of Bridgewater, to enable coal to be shipped cheaply from the mines at Worsley to Manchester, and indeed heralded the canal age more than 200 years ago. The extension from Manchester to Runcorn was added later and the link up to the Trent and Mersey Canal enabled trade to prosper, firstly to and from the Potteries to Liverpool and over the Penines to Yorkshire and eventually south to the Capital itself.
I feel sure that this background has been responsible for my love of all things rural, and my interest in the canals of the UK, England and Wales in particular.
I used to walk home from Daresbury school, a distance of about 4 miles, in all weathers from the age of 5. Uncomtemplatable today. But it was always safe in those days.
My first encounter with bees and beekeeping occured at this time. At the bottom corner of our land just accross the railway, under Red Brow, lived an old couple (at least they appeared old to a 6 year old) From memory it seemed that they lived in an old black cabin, like an old railway carriage, except that I`m sure it wasn`t. They occupied land between the railway level crossing and the stream which was at the bottom of the hill below the canal level, growing vegetables and keeping bees. I can`t remember if he worked at a job or not, or if they were retired. There was to me the magic art of beekeeping going on. Fortunately he tolerated my sporadic appearances at the apiary, and something of that way of life rubbed off and on to me.
It has stayed with me for the rest of my life.
All these memories were passing through my mind as I approached the Hives nr Gifford to see if the bees were OK after our particularly hard winter.
Meghan was quite happy, the sun was shining and the hives were in view. Of the bees there was no sign. I quickened my pace and tapped on the hive wall expecting to hear the buzzing in response from the bees, but only silence. I hefted the rear of the hive to assess the weight. Quite heavy, normally a good sign. Still no bees at the entrance and none flying. I dismantled the roof and feeder. It was empty, indicating that the bees had taken last years winter syrup feed down into the chambers.
Further dismantling showed plenty of capped honey and pollen but no sign of any eggs or brood at any stage. Neither was there any sign of bees. They had all dissapeared. very few dead bees on the floor, non visible on the ground in front of the hive.
I checked further, but there was no sign of emergency queen cells or any indication that the bees had attempted queen replacement. So there it was, perfect condition, loaded with stores but bereft of bees. Classic signs of CCD. (Colony collapse disorder).
something that I had not experienced before.
Perhaps if I had acquired this colony earlier last year I could have examined it and ensured that it was queenright before winter, but the weather was against any such manipulation. The lesser evil was to feed it up and allow it to take its chances.
So, apart from the short period after the theft I am now without bees for the first time in more than 50 years.
I`ll wait to see if any swarms become available in May or June. If not I`ll have to consider my future options.