{Drawing room.}

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, Hilda, guess what’s just happened to me.

Dame Hilda: I haven’t the foggiest notion, dear. But you look so flushed that if I didn't know you, I might think it was something interesting. Why is your dress all covered in bits of grass?

Dr. Hinge: I had to throw myself on the ground to avoid them.

Dame Hilda: Don't tell me those children from up the road have been sitting on the back wall again stoning you.

Dr. Hinge: No, no Hilda! It was bees.

Dame Hilda: Bees?

Dr. Hinge: You know, dear, ♬buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, honeybee, honeybee.♬

Dame Hilda: I know perfectly well what a bee is, Evadne. I have been in the garden myself when there have been bees about. But I've never had to throw myself on the ground on account of them. You must have upset them. I've told you about poking around in nooks and crannies with that stick of yours.

Dr. Hinge: I was not poking around in nooks and crannies. I was mowing the lawn. And suddenly I heard this loud humming noise and I looked up. And there was a swarm of bees coming straight towards me.

Dame Hilda: And you panicked?

Dr. Hinge: I did not panic.

Dame Hilda: Then why did you throw yourself to the ground? Oh, I know we all used to do it at one time, dear. But that was for flying bombs. Not just for a handful of bees.

Dr. Hinge: It was not just a handful of bees, Hilda. I told you it was a swarm. The whole sky darkened as they flew across the sun.

Dame Hilda: Really, Evadne. You make it sound like a thousand bomber raid over Berlin. You're sure it wasn't vultures. Now I could understand vultures going for you.

Dr. Hinge: Well, as you're not afraid of bees, Hilda, come out and have a look at them.

Dame Hilda: They're not still there, are they?

Dr. Hinge: Of course, they're still there.

Dame Hilda: Where?

Dr. Hinge: They went into that old hive down by the Hollyhocks.

Dame Hilda: But that's where my garden seat is, Evadne. That's where I sit and watch the birds.

Dr. Hinge: Well, now you can sit and watch the birds and the bees. You never know, perhaps you’ll learn something.

Dame Hilda: Look who's talking. Anyway, how long are those wretched bees going to be here?

Dr. Hinge: Probably for good.

Dame Hilda: For good? Surely they could have found somewhere more salubrious than the old hive. It was there when we arrived. We were going to burn it, if I remember correctly.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, we were.

Dame Hilda: I wish we had. I don't want to have to sit out there all summer covered from head to toe in netting.

Dr. Hinge: Don’t be ridiculous, Hilda. One only wears protective clothing when one is getting the honey out.

Dame Hilda: Oh, I hadn't thought of that. You mean we're going to get honey?

Dr. Hinge: What do you expect from bees, cranberry jelly? And you know, they really couldn't have arrived at a better time.

Dame Hilda: Oh, is half past two to in the afternoon especially propitious?

Dr. Hinge: No, no. There's an old country rhyme Hilda.

A swarm in May

Is worth a load of hay

A swarm in June

Is worth a silver spoon

But a swarm in July

Is not worth a fly

Dame Hilda: You know, Evadne, when I listen to you like that, I sometimes wish you hadn't lined your drawers with the farmer's weekly.

Dr. Hinge: They have arrived at the most productive time of year, Hilda. June.

Dame Hilda: How much, uh, honey would we get, then?

Dr. Hinge: Well, I believe you can get something like 40 pounds from one hive.

Dame Hilda: Good, heavens! And they sell local honey in the health shop for one pound fifty a pound. We could make 60 pounds a hive. How many a hives do you think we could cram in down there if we burn that old garden seat of mine?

Dr. Hinge: Now, steady on Hilda, before we go into mass production, we'll need to go into this business thoroughly and find out how we do it first.

Dame Hilda: You know what, dear? We could have a little stall down by the front gate.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, you'll need somewhere to sit, won't you, once we've burned your garden seat?

Dame Hilda: We could sell all sorts of goodies, honey ginger snaps and honey cake and honey fudge, Of course we need a trade name, don't we? Now, what about, Dame Hilda's home made honey products?

Dr. Hinge: Well, how about Dr. Hinge's home made honey products?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, no, a bit clinical, that. No, I mean Dr. Hinge sounds like a quack. Suppose we named it after the house, home made honey products from Utopia limited and had a smiling bee on the label.

Dr. Hinge: Why would the bee have to be smiling?

Dame Hilda: Well, because it comes from utopia, dear, it's a happy little bee. We can have it sitting on a cornucopia, and underneath it there's lovely lines of W.S. Gilbert's, quaff the nectar, cull the roses, gather fruit and flowers in plenty.

Dr. Hinge: Bees don't gather fruit and flowers.

Dame Hilda: No, but they quaff the nectar.

Dr. Hinge: They don't cull the roses either. So that's only one out of four.

Dame Hilda: Yes, but the lines are from the opera, Utopia limited.

Dr. Hinge: Who's going to know that?

Dame Hilda: Anyone who is familiar with the works of Gilbert and Sullivan?

Dr. Hinge: Then you're aiming for a specialised market, are you?

Dame Hilda: Now, I don't want to make an issue of this, Evadne. We can explain on the label where the lines come from.

Dr. Hinge: You're going to need big labels, aren't you? And what are you going to sell it in? Five pound jars.

Dame Hilda: Quaff the nectar, cull the roses, bashful girls will soon be plenty, maids who thus at fifteen poses ought to be divine at twenty.

Dr. Hinge: You want that on as well?

Dame Hilda: Those are the lines the chorus sing immediately after Lady Sophy's song in Act I. Remember?

Dr. Hinge: I remember.

Dame Hilda: Why don't you see if you can find Lady Sophy's song, will you, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Very well.

Dame Hilda: Of course, it's an absolute age since we did that one, isn't it?

Dr. Hinge: Yes it is, but I've got the score here somewhere.

Dame Hilda: I say, Evadne. There is a honey drink you can make as well isn’t there​?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, lemon and honey.

Dame Hilda: No, no, no, no, dear, no. Something a little more exotic than lemon and honey.

Dr. Hinge: Mead.

Dame Hilda: No, no, the stuff that the gods drank.

Dr. Hinge: Nectar.

Dame Hilda: Ambrosia! Ambrosia, dear.

Dr. Hinge: No, no, no. They ate ambrosia, dear. They drank nectar.

Dame Hilda: Or was it the other way round?

Dr. Hinge: It might have been.

Dame Hilda: Well, whatever it was, it was honey of some sort, wasn't it? And it made them immortal. So we could put that on the label, couldn't we?

‘Pure goodness from the honeybee to give you immortality.’

Dr. Hinge: I rather fancy the trades descriptions people may have something to say about that.

Dame Hilda: Well, if they doubt it, I shall point to you. You look as though you've lived forever.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, do you want to sing this song or not?

Dame Hilda: Yes, I do.

Dr. Hinge: Then make a bee line for the piano and sing

Bold faced ranger

Perfect stranger

Meets two well behaved young ladies

He’s attractive

Young and active

Each a little bit afraid is

Youth advances

At his glances

To their danger they awaken

They repel him

As they tell him

He is very much mistaken

Very, very much mistaken

Though they speak to him politely

Please observe they’re sneering slightly

Just to show he’s acting vainly

This is virtue saying plainly

Go away young Bachelor

We are not what you take us for

English girls of well bred notions

Shun all unrehearsed emotions

English girls of highest class

Practise them before the glass

Pray observe the cogent moral

English ladies never quarrel

When a doubt they come across

English ladies always toss

Dame Hilda: Well, I must say, Evadne, you played that with remarkable panache. Quite the bee's knees, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Thank you, dear.

Dame Hilda: Oh, that sounds like Maud back with the shopping.

Dr. Hinge: I think we better warn her about the bee's, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: How nice of you to think of her, dear.

Dr. Hinge: I wasn't thinking of her. My concern was for the bees. I suggest we place that hive out of bounds to her.

Dame Hilda: Yes, perhaps you're right, dear. Maud!

Maud: Coming, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: I'll tell her, dear. I don't want her to be upset.

Maud: Yes, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: Ah, now Maud, dear. You know that bee hive in the garden down by the hollyhocks near my seat.

Maud: Yes, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: Well, the Doctor tells me it's full of bees.

Maud: Does she now? Well, I don't know what she's been insinuating, but I'll not ‘ave that laid at my door.

Dr. Hinge: I wasn't trying to lay it at anyone's door, Maud, they arrived in a swarm a short while ago and occupied the old hive.

Maud: Oh, did they, Doctor? Then I ‘ope you ain't looking to me to go down and smoke ‘em out.

Dame Hilda: Oh, we don't want them smoked out, dear.

Dr. Hinge: We're just trying to warn you not to interfere with them.

Maud: Do I look like an ‘alf wit Doctor?

Dame Hilda: Don't answer that, Evadne.

Maud: Do I look the sorta person who'd be daft enough to go interfering with an ‘ive full o’ bees?

Dame Hilda: Don't answer that either, Evadne.

Maud: Well, do I?

Dame Hilda: Of course you don't, Maud. Evadne, stop biting your lip, dear. It's gone all white. No,

Maud. We just wanted to warn you that they were there, dear, that's all.

Dr. Hinge: We’re going to keep them, you see, and possibly breed them and eventually fill that whole area of the garden with hives.

Maud: And who’s going to ‘ang your washing out then, Doctor?

Dr. Hinge: My washing?

Maud: It certainly ain't gonna be me. Not if there's bees about. Them sorta things don't take to me.

Dr. Hinge: I wonder why?

Maud: Nor I to them, bees and wasps, theys all the same. I had my education almost ruined by a wasp.

Dame Hilda: You intrigued me, dear. What did it do?

Maud: It's stung old birdie Finch, that's what.

Dame Hilda: And who was birdie Finch?

Maud: She were my teacher at the old village school, Dame ‘ilda. Her name was Miss Finch, but we all called her birdie.

Dr. Hinge: Very original.

Maud: Anyhow, we was all in class one morning, and old birdie Finch was standing on ‘er little platform, writing fractions on ‘er black board. When I see this wasp, ‘overing over ‘er ‘ead. There's a wasp, I shouts. Well, you should ‘ave seen ‘er jump. Who shouted that about a wasp, says birdie? I did, says I. Then where is it, says she? I don't know, says I. You're a liar, says she. I ain’t, says I. And I chucks me ink well at ‘er.

Dr. Hinge: Talk about Tom Brown's school days.

Maud: Well, she ducks, and it sails right out through the open window beside ‘er. And do you know, that daft old ‘eadmaster of ours chooses that very moment to go wandering by that window.

Dame Hilda: It makes you wonder how they get their degrees, doesn't it?

Maud: You should have seen ‘is face. Well, I’d only just filled them ink wells. The ‘eadmaster comes storming in, and ‘e says, Who threw that ink well out the window? And the ‘ole class points at me and shouts, she done!

Dr. Hinge: You must have been popular.

Maud: I were, they were just waiting to see me kick ‘im.

Dame Hilda: Were you in the habit of kicking the head, then, dear?

Maud: I done it afore when ‘e come to close. But I didn't get no chance this time, because just as I were raising me boot, birdie Finch finds that wasp.

Dr. Hinge: Where was it?

Maud: Up ‘er skirt! Well, she shrieks and goes all rigid. So the ‘eadmaster goes to get it out. Talk about a pantomime, ‘e might have been a BA and an MA an’all but ‘e'd a lot to learn about women and wasps. And the upshot was, it stung ‘er, and she give a shriek, and she kicks ‘im instead of me.

Dame Hilda: Well, it certainly sounds like a lively morning, dear, but I don't see how that ruined your education.

Maud: I ain't no good at adding up, am I?

Dame Hilda: Well, not much, dear.

Dr. Hinge: And you blame it on that wasp, do you?

Maud: Well, it were that wasp was interrupted that maths lesson.

Dame Hilda: How lucky it didn't happen during an English lesson.

{Door knocks!}

Dame Hilda: I say, who can that be?

Maud: I'll go.

Dame Hilda:  Thank you, dear. I say Evadne, I do hope Maud's not going to be silly about those bees.

Dr. Hinge: How do you mean, dear?

Dame Hilda: Well, if she won't hang the washing out, what else is she going to be unable to do on their account?

Dr. Hinge: Who knows? But they do say bees are lucky, they may stop her coming altogether.

Dame Hilda: Shh! Evadne, not so loud, dear.

Maud: Excuse me, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: Yes, dear. Who was it?

Maud: It's ‘im as is caretaker at the co-op ‘all, Dame ‘ilda, ‘e's come about them bees.

Dame Hilda: Oh, they're not complaining already, are they? Does he look as if he's been stung?

Maud: ‘e looks as if ‘e's frightened o’ being. ‘e's wearing big leather gloves and ‘e's ‘olding a wicker basket in one ‘and an ‘at with a veil on it in t’other.

Dame Hilda: Perhaps he's going to a wedding, dear.

Dr. Hinge: He's obviously a beekeeper, Hilda. Now, this could prove fortuitous. We could do with a few tips. Now, show him in, would you please, Maud.

Dame Hilda: And then make us all a nice pot of tea, dear, would you?

Maud: Very well, Dame’ ilda. You can go along in then, they’ll see yer.

Dr. Hinge: Just listen to her, Hilda, the epitome of graciousness.

Caretaker: Nah. Good afternoon, ladies.

Dame Hilda: Good afternoon.

Dr. Hinge: Good afternoon.

Caretaker: Oh, don't suppose you remember me. The name's Rampling.

Dame Hilda: I remember perfectly well, Mr. Rampling. We once had a slight disagreement over whether or not four forty watt bulbs were adequate to light the co-op hall for a Christmas dance.

Caretaker: Yeah. You wanted sixty watts, didn't you? And a string of Chinese lanterns.

Dr. Hinge: I'm afraid, Mr. Rampling, that Dame Hilda occasionally suffers from delusions of grandeur.

Caretaker: Yeah, and what was the upshot? You fused the place. I warned you about that. That wiring would only take four forty's. That is, if you want both bars of the fire on as well.

Dame Hilda: Anyway, what brings you here today, Mr. Rampling?

Caretaker: I've come for the bees.

Dr. Hinge: What bees?

Caretaker: My bees that are in your hive.

Dr. Hinge: Well, how do you know they're your bees?

Caretaker: Because I saw them swarm and I followed them here. They went down my garden along Culpeper lane, across the allotments, over the railway, down the field behind the Wesleyan chapel, and into your garden and hive. I'd climbed in your garden, and had a look, weren’t very easy, what with my leg.

Dame Hilda: What's the matter with your leg?

Caretaker: Why, see, it's just an old war wound, shrapnel. At one stage of the desert campaign, I were the only thing that stood between Rommel and Cairo. Me on me motorbike and out of petrol. Mercifully, he didn't know that, or he'd have been through in a flash, I shouldn't wonder.

Dame Hilda: To get back to the bees, Mr. Rambling.

Caretaker: Rampling!

Dame Hilda: What is the legal position, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: The legal position is quite clear, Hilda, they’re ours the law on the subject hasn't been changed since Roman times.

Dame Hilda: She would know that, of course.

Caretaker: No, no, no, no. Wait a minute, I kept those bees in sight all the way here, they're mine.

Dame Hilda: Then why has it taken you so long to come and tell us? If you were on top of the garden wall, as you say, you could have shouted.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, you could have shouted at me. I was in the garden at the time.

Dame Hilda: Oh, don't confuse the issue, dear. You were lying on the grass, if he saw you, he'd probably have thought that it was our scarecrow that had blown over.

Caretaker: I didn't see anyone, and I didn't think I'd have all this bother either. So I went home to fetch a skip and the rest of my things before disturbing you.

Dr. Hinge: That's where you made your big mistake, Mr. Rampling. You should have left your shovel on the wall.

Dame Hilda: What did you say, dear.

Dr. Hinge: That’s country lore, Hilda. Mr. Rampling, are you conversant with the Flora Thompson's book, Lark Rise to Candleford?

Caretaker: Lark Rise to…... what

Dr. Hinge: Candleford.

Caretaker: Can't say I am. I'm not a great reader, it’s my eyes, they're not up to it any more. The effect of the blazing sun on the desert sand. Standing there day after day, staring towards the horizon, looking for them Germans coming.

Dame Hilda: Yes, yes, what a pity you didn't have Lark Rise to Candleford with you. You could have read it while you were waiting.

Dr. Hinge: You see, Mr. Rampling, according to Flora Thompson, as soon as one sees one's bees swarming, one grabs a coal shovel and an iron spoon, and one follows them all the way, banging the spoon on the shovel, and shouting, tang, tang, tangerty, tang. To let people know they're yours.

Dame Hilda: Do you know I'm sure there's a dash of Romany blood in you somewhere, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Then having seen where one's bees have gone, one leaves one's shovel to mark one's claim.

Dame Hilda: There you are, there Mr. Rampling. You appear to have forfeited your claim. We found no coal shovel on our wall.

Caretaker: Well, if you ladies are so set on having those bees, you better keep them, I suppose. I just err... just hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all? They could be killer bees, for all you know.

Dame Hilda: Killer bees? What are killer bees?

Caretaker: Well, some farmers use them instead of barbed wire, for keeping nosy people off of their land. You go near them. They'll sting you to death.

Dame Hilda: Perhaps we should let him remove them, Evadne, dear, just in case.

Dr. Hinge: Nonsense, he's trying to frighten us.

Caretaker: Well, please yourselves, but don't say I didn't warn you. I must say, you surprise me, you two. I mean, I've always thought there was something odd about you. I’d have put you down for eccentrics or cranks, or even nutters. But I never have put you down for bee thieves.

Dame Hilda: Well, after a few harsh words said on both sides, we offered to pay Mr. Rampling for the bees. But he said, trading bees for money was unlucky. So finally, he went off with twelve jars of Evadne’s homemade quince jelly, and he seemed quite happy. Mind, for the first few days, I was very wary of those bees. But after a while, I grew quite brave. I actually began talking to them. Well, you see I’d read somewhere, you should tell them all the household gossip. So every time I passed the hive, I stopped and told them something. I bet Evadne’s ears were burning. Then one afternoon I discovered that disaster had struck. And I hurried into the drawing room to tell Evadne.

{Drawing room’}

Dame Hilda: Evadne, Evadne, the bees are doing something funny, dear.

Dr. Hinge: You haven't been down there singing to them, have you?

Dame Hilda: I just went down to tell them what we’d had for lunch.

Dr. Hinge: That must be a dozen times you've been down there so far today.

Dame Hilda: Well, I've had a lot to tell them, dear. First there was my funny dream, then there was the heel coming off my shoe, there was you getting a rotten egg at breakfast.

Dr. Hinge: All right, don’t go on. So what are they doing that’s funny?

Dame Hilda: I think they're swarming again or something. They're all in a sort of mass on a branch of the apple tree.

Dr. Hinge: All of them?

Dame Hilda: Well, I didn't actually count them individually. But it looks like all of them to me.

Dr. Hinge: Well, in that case they're not swarming, they're absconding.

Dame Hilda: Absconding? They're not school children.

Dr. Hinge: Going, all of them, leaving us. They'll stay on the tree long enough for the scouts to find them a new home. And then they'll be off. And bang goes your honey stall.

Dame Hilda: But why should they want to go off and leave?

Dr. Hinge: Well, when bees desert the hive, it can be for one of several reasons. There may be a lack of food or water.

Dame Hilda: Oh, nonsense. They've been living like kings, or should I say queens.

Dr. Hinge: Or it could be due to excessive interference by the beekeeper. Or someone.

Dame Hilda: What are you looking at me for?

Dr. Hinge: Well, I must say I would abscond if every half hour, someone in a straw hat and ostrich feather came tapping on my roof to tell me a lot of trivial nonsense about rotten eggs and shoe heels.

Dame Hilda: They're supposed to like being talked to.

Dr. Hinge: Maybe. But perhaps they don't enjoy being nattered at.

Dame Hilda: I do not natter, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Now the immediate problem here is to get them off that tree and back into the hive. You'll need a box or a basket and a soft brush.

Dame Hilda: What are you going to do with them, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Brush them off the branch of the tree into this box of course.

Dame Hilda: But they're up the tree, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Then I shall take the stepladder. And I can use your ostrich feather instead of a brush.

Dame Hilda: They're about sixty foot up it, dear. Even with your peculiar height you're not going to be quite able to reach that far. What's that?

Dr. Hinge: It's the bees. They're off.

Dame Hilda: Oh quick then, quick Evadne. We must go after them, do something

Dr. Hinge: Very well. Grab the coal shovel the poker, dear, and follow me. You bang. I'll shout. Tang, tang, tangerty, tang. Tang, tang, tangerty, tang!

Dame Hilda: Beesy, weasy! Come to mother! beesy, weasy! come to mummy!

Dr. Hinge: Tang, tang, tangerty, tang!