When studying human family history, it’s standard practice to search through birth and death certificates, marriage records, and census documents. From my own experience, this kind of research can be an invaluable way to understand ancestry. Anyone who has explored their family tree will also know that it often brings unexpected discoveries. For me, one such surprise was learning that my own family roots can be traced back to the remote and treeless Faroe Islands—a place where honey bees are not native.
Studying Bee Ancestry
Tracing the ancestry of honey bees is quite different from tracing human genealogy. Beekeepers and researchers often rely on diagnostic techniques such as wing morphometry—carefully measuring the points of the points of vein intersections on wings —or modern DNA analysis. I have spent long hours measuring wings from my own bees, trying to understand what they might reveal about their origins. Genetic testing would provide clearer answers, but for a hobbyist beekeeper it can be prohibitively expensive. That led me to wonder whether there might be another route to understanding the “family history” of my bees. Instead of genetics alone, could there also be a historical paper trail that might shed light on the history of my bees.
The Red Leather Box
In search of answers, I borrowed an old red leather record box from my local beekeeping association. Inside were documents, meeting minutes, and records dating back to the late nineteenth century. Reading through them was fascinating—not just for what they revealed about bees, but also for the glimpses they offered into the everyday concerns of beekeepers from another era.
One scandalous entry from 1940 stood out in particular. In the Secretary’s Report it was noted that the association had helped arrange the supply of 1,820 pounds of sugar to 33 members—an impressive 55 pounds each. However, the records also reveal some objection from the Food Executive regarding the quantity allocated. It’s small historical details like this that make archival research so enjoyable and vivid.
Time To Open The Red Box
Among the documents were three records that might have a direct bearing on the history of the bees in my area, in the Scottish Borders.
A report in The Berwick Journal (January 22, 1891) states:
“This year’s operations included…the direct importation of Ligurian and Carnolian queens.”
18 Dutch Colonies Imported in 1939
An invoice records the purchase of 18 Dutch colonies (six-frame stocks). The Honorary Secretary’s report for that year comments on their performance:
“The queens were very rapid breeders—so rapid, in fact, that the beekeeper was caught unaware when the swarming season approached… It would appear that Dutch bees are hardy, prolific and active foragers, but their swarming propensities are a serious drawback for their usefulness.”
1982 The EC Aid Programme for Beekeeping
Records note a European Community agricultural aid programme for beekeeping. Part of this initiative encouraged the movement of bees between different regions, potentially increasing the mixing of bee populations.
Taken together, these snippets of history suggest at least one clear conclusion: there has been a long tradition of importing different strains or “races” of honey bees into the region. Ligurian and Carniolan queens in the nineteenth century, Dutch stocks in the twentieth century, and later European policies encouraging bee movement all point to a long-standing exchange of bee genetics across borders. It seems likely that these records offer a brief snapshot into a much larger trade and movement of honey bees and that for more than 100 years these bees have been openly mating with local stock.
This raises an intriguing possibility. Honey bee populations change continually through swarming, mating, and natural selection. Imported bees genes may disappear within a few generations, especially if they are poorly adapted to local conditions. Yet it is possible that some of their genetic legacy remains.
If those imported queens successfully established colonies and their daughters mated locally, their genes could have passed into the wider population. Over decades—perhaps even more than a century—those traits might have been reshuffled, and adapted to local conditions. Still, fragments of that genetic lineage could remain present in today’s bees.
It is therefore tempting to speculate that the bees in my apiary may carry echoes of these past introductions: perhaps a touch of Ligurian productivity, a hint of Carniolan gentleness, the prolific breeding noted in those Dutch colonies of 1939 and the characteristics of the native honey bee associated with The Scottish Borders. Without DNA testing it is impossible to know for certain. Yet the records in that old red leather box suggest that my bees, like many living things, are the product of a long and complex history—one shaped by both human decisions as well as honey bee biology.
Leave a Reply