A baritone hum was coming from the great oak tree by the river. Lit up in the sun, the green-gold branches shimmered with a miasma of strange insect life. Instead of the million acorns the oak tree normally sheds at this time of the year, something different was nestling among the leaves. So many of them flitting to and fro. And that unsettling, velvety purr? The European hornet.
What is it about these outsize wasps that makes the senses prickle? Disparaging myths have led to merciless persecution: “Seven stings can kill a horse, three an adult and two a child.” Not true.
OK, they are protective if their nest is threatened, but aren’t we all? What you do have to remember is: don’t get in their way, and especially: do not breathe on their nest. This is not much to ask. Especially since a hornet nest in summer can contain 200 to 400 individuals. Better to keep a respectful distance.
I’d only seen one or two hornets in the past, and I admit I wanted to back off from this cloud of golden stingers because of the stories. But our European species of hornet is mostly a gentle giant and not as threatening as we think.
Move in a little closer, into the warm dome of dappled light beneath the oak leaves, and magic happens. The ominous sound, deeper than a common wasp or bee, envelops the ears. Hornet buzzing instantly evokes a response from deep in the primitive brain. But while the European hornet can sting repeatedly like wasps, it rarely attacks people. And the venom is apparently less powerful than others in its family.
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Scientists explain the folklore that underlies us thinking that its sting is the worst of all the bee and wasp clan: in fact the chemical cocktail in hornet venom contains a neurotransmitter named acetylcholine that might make the sting seem worse than it is. So, our hornet is usually docile — and its sting is honestly not as bad as all that. Still, I kept my distance while watching. Just out of respect. It wasn’t a swarm — at this time of year the workers are about to die off during the first frosts — and the new queens are about to hibernate, so they are fairly sleepy. The loosely scattered veil of hornets shone where they caught the sun. I think all this vigour might have been a mating flight or a last feed before the frost.
I tipped my head back and marvelled, immersed in the tannin scent of the oak and the mesmerising buzz. Surrounded by the textures of whirring wings among bark, twig and leaf, the moment mingling its warm saffron with the honey rays through the leaves, the want to share this was too great. I stepped out of the oak’s realm and told someone sitting on a bench nearby. He stood up. “They’re docile,” I told him, seeing his alarm at the word “hornets”. We watched together, sharing a moment of communal fascination. He phoned someone and described the hornets to her as they performed their peaceful theatre among the leafy canopy.
Hornets do not deserve their fearsome reputation, and in spite of some of their unsettling habits (decapitating wasps, taking a honeybee or two, slicing up dragonflies, startling frogs, nicking moths from moth traps, hiding in shoes, the odd sting, nesting in our birdboxes and bashing into our windows at night when attracted by light) they are just trying to make a living, like the rest of us.
They are carnivorous, and usefully eat mosquitoes and other nuisance insects, even culling those that harm bee colonies, and thus protecting the bees.
A very warm welcome
As worker bees create air conditioning in their hives, the smell of honey can draw in occasional predators. The arrival of the Asian hornet has been more of a worry to beekeepers than our native European hornet. This nasty must be quickly controlled if discovered. It specialises in attacking honeybees that in this country have little defence against the rapacious predator. The “murder hornet”, as it is known, will repeatedly return and kill off whole colonies.
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In Japan, local bees have evolved a thermal defence mechanism in response to the pillaging hornets; they pile in and create a “bee ball”. This envelopes the hornet and kills it with heat before it can release the pheromone that will attract more hornets. The bees effectively roast their enemies alive.
Winter’s myths
The Brothers Grimm tell a winter story of a wasp king, the Wespenkonig, a giant wasp which delivers a “Yule sting” if displeased.
In Denmark, wasp cakes called hvepekege are left out on the winter solstice to appease the wasp spirit. In Britain, our bees have developed a natural equilibrium; as with all nature, the sting in the tail is a last resort, and the wisdom of bees prevails.