The Hive

So where do the four bees live?

Our 'hives' are two thatched cottages standing close together on a bank beside a quiet country road, bordered by the wildflower meadow and situated between two woods - one an ancient coppiced wood and the other a newer shooting wood belonging to the local big estate. Aristaeus and Melissa live in the larger of the two houses and the Solitary Bee and Worker Bee hunker down in the smaller one. Both were built around 1660, probably together, which makes them relative newcomers in this part of the world where many cottages, especially in Suffolk, date from the 1300s - a few are even older. As a non-English person I think it's great the way the English continue to live in and treasure their ancient buildings. I come from a culture where they were all either reduced to rubble with a shiny new modern box built on their graves, or carted off in their entirety to a 'folk park' to be visited as curiosities - certainly not to be lived in! My family thought we were mad to attempt to live in such an old place. The Worker Bee's family, being English, took it in their stride.

But our madness has amply repaid us. Those ancient builders knew what they were doing. The breathable walls made of wattle (woven wood) and daub (mud and straw), the small windows, mud floors covered by rosy-gold ancient brick, and the thick coverage of thatch make the cottage warm in winter and cool in summer. Seriously cool. If, on a hot day, you can resist the urge to open doors and windows to the heat, you will find that the cottage stays so cool that, coming in from the heat outside, you feel like you've stepped into a fridge. Having stayed with a friend in a new build recently, I almost fried, especially at night. We have become so conditioned to the way our house adjusts itself to the prevailing weather conditions to keep us alternatively snug or cool that we find it hard to stay in newer buildings, even for a few days. In winter, with a minimal heating system, thick curtains and blinds, an open fire (also a small stove but we never use it) - and our topping of long-straw thatch - we never go cold, although we have had to adjust to the odd draft that flings itself down our two winding staircases when the easterlies are blowing. We have adapted with warmer clothes, lined curtains in the right places over doors as well as windows, and blankets/throws when we're sitting for a while - watching TV or reading. (And the lining of sub-cutaneous fat that comes with middle age hasn't hurt either - I'm sure I was much colder in my thinner days.) We've learned not to be too anti-draft as the breathable nature of the structure means it is never damp. The first thing people assume about these old places is that it must be a constant battle against moisture. But again, the ancient builders who set it up as a sort of kit house - apparently the oak frame was constructed on or near the site and then raised and set in place (without foundations - yikes!) - knew what they were doing. The house breathes and sorts itself out and we never have even a patch of damp to worry about. We keep our heating at 18 degrees - never higher and are perfectly comfortable. That said - when the heating is off the old windows (the listing means no double -glazing) mean that the house cools down quickly. But by then we're in bed! So still warm.

The listing? Houses of this vintage are 'listed' by the English authorities, which means either the whole of them or certain features cannot be changed or tampered with and must be retained as original. For Grade 2 listed buildings like ours, this means the thatch roof, old cottagey windows and the outside doors. If you're Grade 1 listed it means you can't touch anything. You can occasionally get permission to make small changes but the rules are strict. And they've worked. England has done a great job of retaining its heritage of ancient buildings and it's largely because of the listed buildings system. We thatch owners might often be found railing against the listings officer when we're pooling our frustrations down the pub, but in our hearts we know we owe them the very buildings we live in and love so much. They get under your skin, these old places. After a few years, it's not so much like living in a house as wearing an outer garment or carapace. Something that settles around you and becomes part of you, not just a space you live in. I've never lived anywhere that felt so companionable and human. Something about the scale of it, the shape and size of the rooms, the rough-shaped beams, the fireplaces, the uneven wattle and daub walls - maybe it's the imperfections that make it so human. Having moved here from a house with big windows and tall ceilings, I wondered if I would ever adjust to the low, beamed ceilings here. Now I would never go back. The cottage feels like a mother hen, folding its wings over you - especially at night when my last sight before sleep is the beams that slant over my bed. Unlike any other house I've lived in, it feels a part of its surroundings, the fields and woods, not a barrier against them. The oak used to build it probably came from the medieval coppiced wood across the field in front of it. Although some of the elm floor beams may have come from decommissioned ships. When you're here alone, you never feel alone. Maybe because so many generations have lived here before you. But they're not intrusive. Except for whoever crosses the floor above our lounge every night about 9pm, footstep creaking the same beam night after night! But it has never bothered us and we never bother it. We imagine some weary Victorian labourer getting to bed early to get up again at the crack of dawn and go back to the unforgiving fields and we feel for his sorrows, all this time later. The only other oddity is that the covers of the bed in the little room are often rumpled or slightly turned down after being made smooth. The Worker Bee swears it's not him having a laugh. But again, it doesn't bother us - and there could be a simple explanation anyway. But even if other spirits from other times inhabit the house with us, they are respectful and don't intrude. I always feel safe here.

Not that you don't need nerves of steel at times! The bill for the thatch renewal last year was one of these and Aristaeus and Melissa have just received an eye-watering quote for the revamping of their many windows. Sometimes you have to really focus like mad on the romance of it all! But more of the money side of owning an ancient building later..........