Ant Hill Wood
"Go to the ant thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise." said King Solomon.
Mis-spent Youth, Maybe?
This part of my site has been designated for any memories I have of my childhood, teenage years and early adult life! My aim is to impart an idea of what led me into the hobby of ant keeping and the study of these insects. While my memory may be a bit vague at times, the reminiscings of my past which I have written here are completely true.
I hope that by reading them, you may perhaps find a smile upon your face as you possibly relate to the tales yourselves; and if not, then at least you might just have some insight into what makes me the person I am, plus why I became so fascinated by ants as to compile a web site in their honour?
Please enjoy this page and all the other areas of this Ant Hill, as this entire site is dedicated to ant lovers everywhere around the world, as well as making learning about ants and their lives a fun thing to do!!
Then you can decide if my younger days were mis-spent or not?
My Dad.
I have many fond memories of my dad, who sadly died in 2002 at the age of 72 from cancer. Like his father, he was an old soldier; and extremely proud of his garden. Because of him working at the local general hospital, which has now been demolished and replaced with a super market of all things; this had some influence on my choice of a career in nursing.
My paternal grandfather would recite tales of fighting against the Turks in World War One back in 1914-18. Of the heroic deeds of advancing against a fortified position; only to be forced to run for your life when fired upon by heavy machine guns and seeing your best mates falling down lifeless and wounded all around you! My dad was a little luckier, as he was just too young to fight in WW2, joining the Royal Artillery in 1946. He did however find himself in Germany in 1947, and recalled how badly the ordinary people had suffered by allowing themselves to be led by an egotistical megalomaniac like Hitler. Apparently if you had lots of bars of chocolate and packets of cigarettes, or silk/nylon stockings then you were looked upon as being rich; especially by the poor German girls who thought all the soldiers were extremely well off; and you could use these as currency to buy virtually almost anything, from a new pair of shoes to having a liason with a young lady (if you catch my meaning)?
Life must have been pretty awful back then? Thank heaven it is better today for all the countries which were involved in the horrendous conflict which occurred (or so we hope?); and pray that such World Wars are a thing of the past, never to be repeated. But I digress!!
Both my dad and my grandfather had a fondness for good old fashioned English roses, and another favourite of dad's was the dahlia. When dad was a younger, much healthier man back in the 1960's and 70's, (as he had to take early retirement on health grounds in 1987), his garden would've won an award had he entered it into any of the gardening contests for best kept garden or prize flowers. Folks from miles around would come to visit him and remark on how beautiful he kept his garden. Such was my dad that he always liked to keep it looking perfect, as it was a true oasis on a council estate where most peoples gardens were more akin to the local rubbish dump!
Now one of my little chores whilst growing up was to help dad maintain his lovely garden, his pride and joy. I do not recall seeing so much as a single ant of any species in his garden prior to my ant hunting escapades, so you can imagine what he must have thought when he suddenly found I was populating his domain with colonies of Myrmica ruginodis, Formica lemani and later on with Lasius flavus. As I grew older, I'd spend less time working in the garden, as although I was out there with trowel or fork in hand; I was on my hands and knees observing the exploits of the ant nests which I had colonized the garden with, much to my dad's dismay; as instead of digging out the dandelions or nettles, I knelt with magnifying glass in hand watching worker ants dragging back caterpillars into their nest.
Living over 200 miles away from my childhood home in Cheshire (as I now live down in Sussex on the south coast of England), meant that I was not there to visit my dad when he went into hospital for what proved to be the successful removal of a cancerous tumour from his stomach; but after which he never regained consciousness, as he had a weak heart and sadly died from this.
Still, I'll never forget the man who gave me so much in life; and his philosophy in life was this. "Do what you can to help others and enjoy every minute of watching a sunrise or sunset; because no matter how rich or poor you may be, there's none of us can take such beauty for granted, or take it with you when you die"!
Such a great man my old DAD!!!
A Hard Choice!
I remember when I was about 10 years old, making the hard decision to go out playing chase the girls with my mates, or whether to go along the local canal tow-path with my best friend for a quiet walk. In the end the quiet walk with my best mate, whose name was Noel, won the day. Little did I know then that my future wife and partner of the last 27 years, Jenny, was waiting to be born down in south Wales; as the year was 1960, and Jenny was born in the October of that year!
It was really hot, as it was mid July; and a hot breeze was wafting down from the Pennines across the Cheshire plain where my home town was sited. To try and stay cool, we sat under one of the many small bridges along the canal; but even here it was like sitting in a bakers oven.
Suddenly we both began jumping about like a pair of manic grasshoppers, as our legs felt as though they were on fire. We were both wearing short trousers too, which made things worse; as a mass of little red welts began to appear on our legs. What was the cause of such pain we wondered to ourselves?
We soon discovered that we were only a foot ( 1/3rd of a metre ) away from a seething nest of red ants, which Noel had inadvertently knocked with his shoe. The mass of ants were evidently not amused at having their home kicked in by my friends shoe, and sought to wreak a swift revenge upon us both.
I did not know then that the " Red Ants " which had so fiercely attacked us were Myrmica ruginodis, as this was back in the days before I started to collect and study ants; and they were just red or black then, though I know better now!
From that day forth, I learned a very healthy respect for these tiny, but truly remarkable insects. That was 45 years ago; but I have never forgotten my first encounter with the little stinging red ants which were to play such a major role in my future life.
Good Old Days of Courtship.
I remember back in 1979 driving down from Hereford to Abergavenny, which was over the border from England into Wales; and then out again on the A40 which was the main road which ran up to Brecon. I used to go as far as the small town of Crickhowell, which was really more the size of a large village than a town; but then, many of the places in Wales have a charm and quaintness which comes from being smaller than their English counterparts.
This was in the days when I was courting Jenny, and her parents would not let her use their car to travel outside of the town. So I went to see her after she finished work in a small shop where she was working at that time.
It was a particularly fine and warm sunny day in mid May, and I was far too early, as it was 3pm and Jenny didn't finish work until 5pm. So I decided to stop where the old road had been replaced by a new section, and the old part had been left derelict for some years. It had literally gone back to nature, as it was overgrown with grass, brambles and nettles; not to mention the odd tree saplings and small bushes here and there.There was loose bits of tarmac and concrete everywhere; and as I had 2 hours to kill, I decided to wander around and investigate the area.
I went about moving bits of rock, as there were even parts of the old road surface where it was possible to lay down , so one could get down to nature as it were; and then I found the biggest Myrmica rubra nest I have ever seen anywhere. It must have had close on 2,000 workers in it, and I would imagine it must have had a large queen population, as this species can have a 100+ queens in a colony; and I could see at least 60 or 70 queens on the surface, which was a joy to behold for an avid ant lover like myself.
I ran back to my car to find a collecting pot, knowing full well that this colony would have more or less vanished from sight by the time it took me the 3 minutes to get back to it. I was right too, as it was only the sight of 70 to 100 worker ants that met me on my return to the site of the nest. So I continued to search for another nest from which to collect a few queens, workers and brood from. I was lucky enough to find a nice nest with 17 queens and maybe 1,300 workers. I took 4 queens and about 100 workers from this nest. I was pleased with my find, even though I was probably not really allowed to keep ants as pets, as I was living in a nurses hostel at the time. I had been so engrossed with my ant hunt that I completely forgot to check my watch.
Shock, horror; it was 5:07pm. Jenny would be out from work and worrying about where I was. I arrived 15 minutes late to find her sitting patiently on a bench by Crickhowell castle. To make up for my lateness, for Jenny did not know about my fascination for ants then, I said the traffic had held me up; and to make amends I took her to see a movie in Abergavenny and we had a fish and chips supper afterwards.
It was only after we were married in October of 1979 that I was courageous enough to tell her the real story for my late arrival on our date. Ahh, the good old days of courtship, how I loved them!
Robotic Ants?
During my career as a nurse, I used to move around quite a bit from one part of Britain to another; and in 1978 I went to work in the lovely county town of Hereford, where I was later to meet my wife Jenny the following year.
I was the only nurse on night duty living in a small hostel with about 14 other nurses, and one day I happened to mention my love of ants to a guy called Dave Glover, who lived in the room just across from myself. Dave was a Herefordshire lad born and bred, and knew many of the local woods and wildlife. He asked if I had visited a place called Haugh Wood, just out along the road to Ledbury. I informed him that I had not, so he gave me directions on how to find the place.
A few days later I set off in my car in search of this local beauty spot. Upon finding it, I was well impressed. It was a large sprawling woodland covering several square miles, and on further investigation, I found hundreds of large nests of the wood ant species Formica rufa.
I was in my element in this place, as I had never before seen these large ants until then; and to see huge mounds over 3 feet in height covered in thousands of large ants. Well, it is a fantastic sight for those who have not seen it, let me tell you!
I continued to wander around the wood, finding bigger and more impressive nests all the time. It was not until I decided to head back towards my car that I spotted a line of moving silver dots on the forest floor. Following this, I located a small nest of F. rufa where someone had evidently used a car spray paint on the ants, which had covered many of the workers with silver paint. It did not hamper their activity in any way, so at least their spiracles or breathing tubes were not blocked. It just looked very strange to see what appeared to be load of little robot ants scurrying around in the middle of a wild wood.
Dave came out with me to see them for himself later that week, as he had never seen the like either; and to this day, I have never seen anything like this again; but I will never forget my "Robotic Ants"!!
A real leap of faith!
The walk was maybe a 7 mile round trip; it may have been a bit more ? All I remember is, it took me 1 hour and 20 minutes to reach the hills from my home, walking at a brisk stride.
The hills ( commonly known as " The Hollins " ) were at the southern most tip of the Pennine Chain of hills, known to all Northern Englishmen/women as " The Backbone of Britain ".
Well, I went to these hills because they had a lot of old limestone quarries with lovely flat rocks all over the place. The rocks, of course, made ideal roofs for ants to nest under; and I knew of at least 100 Myrmica ruginodis nests and maybe 70 Formica lemani nests scattered across the fields and meadows up in the hills.
As it was, the farmer knew me by sight and allowed me to wander on his land in search of ants. He usually had lots of cows in the pastures; but while these were often inquisitive creatures, they never caused me any problems.
So it was that I decided to cut up into the hills by crossing the farmers bottom field.
I could see what I thought to be 5 young cows in the middle of the field, so I opened the gate and proceeded across the meadow.
It turned out that the " young cows " were actually young bullocks; and upon spying me in their field, they charged at me full speed.
I am only a short-legged guy, being only 5 feet 5 inches tall; but let me tell you, I have never run so fast in all my life as I did that moment. I rocketed across that field like an express train trying to break the sound barrier.
I reached the far side of the field, only to see that the dry stone wall had been rebuilt, and a barbed wire fence had been added on top; making the whole thing about 5 feet high ( approx. 1.7metres ).
With the threat of the young bulls behind me, who were by now almost close enough to touch; I took a flying leap at the wall.
You could have knocked me over with a feather, as I cleared the wall, barbed wire and all, in one go!
It was as though some unseen hand had lifted me over the obstacle, as gymnastics was never my strong point at school; and I was hopeless at vaulting over anything higher than 1 metre.
I gathered my breath, continued up the hills, and ended the day returning home with a lovely colony of Formica lemani consisting of 7 queens, over 200 workers and dozens of larvae, so the day ended well for me even if I was a bit breathless after vaulting over that wall. I suppose the adrenalin rush had worked wonders for my ant catching skills
Cruelty to ants.
The year was 1965, and I was a 14 year old school boy on his very first trip away from home in a foreign land. Well, I was with the school trip to Holland anyway.
It was quite an exciting time for a young teenager who had never had a holiday away from his parents before, so I planned to enjoy the time with just my school mates around me; even if we did have teachers watching us like hawks.
We went all over Holland. The Hague, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Delft where the famous pottery is made; and even to a clog making factory. It was great, and we even chatted up the girls from the USA who were staying at our hotel. To hear the Texan drawl from a girl I fancied who came from Dallas, was like music to my ears at the time! Even the Dutch girls spoke really good English with only a hint of accent.
Well one day we were out on a trip to some obscure place, of which I forget the name; and our teachers decided to stop for sandwiches and drinks, so we were duly given our allotted rations for lunch. I had a good friend called Anthony, who preferred to be called Tony when he got older. Now all the guys knew I was into ants, even if I was considered a little bit weird by some of them. I had never seen Lasius niger until then, but as we sat at some picnic tables, I noticed some small black ants coming out from a hole in the ground.
Tony had his small penknife with him, and he started to excavate the hole; whereupon a queen ant suddenly appeared. I gently picked her up so that I could have a closer look, planning to return her back to the nest after a minute or two. Placing her carefully onto the surface of the picnic table, I asked if any of my chums had a magnifying glass so I could have a closer look at her. One of my best mates offered me his spectacles as none of them had a magnifyer; but when I turned back to look at the queen, Tony had produced a cigarette lighter from his pocket and promptly incinerated the poor thing.
What possessed him to do such a thing, I will never know to this day; but I felt like killing him on the spot. I think I would have hit him there and then, had it not been for the intervention of good old Harry Lovatt, our science teacher; who promptly removed the lighter from Tony and promised the severe retribution of a weeks detention for him upon our return to England and school.
Tony and I were re-united in later years when we both joined the young socialists, though I never forgave him for this atrocity. Sadly I have now lost touch with all of my childhood friends from school, as I left my home town of Macclesfield in Cheshire, never to return; but I will always remember my mates from the Central Secondary school. Some with fondness, others with more mixed emotions!
My First Formicarium.
I remember back in the early 1970's when my sister was engaged to an apprentice joiner, who is now her husband. He was also an old school pal of mine from Primary school, so it was an easy task to convince him to make me a wood and glass paned formicarium.
I gave David ( my future brother-in-law ) the specifications of my design, which consisted of 2 panes of clear glass held up in a hardwood frame like a double glazed window. He duly constructed it out of some off cut pieces of mahogany, and fastened the entire thing onto a stand; but I had omitted to tell him to provide a small door type entrance on the top, so he drilled out an oblong hole into which I placed a softwood stopper. So far, so good!
I took the formicarium home and half filled it with the good rich loam from our garden. Added a small amount of water, and then went off into the local hills to collect a colony of ants. I managed to collect a lovely colony of Formica lemani, consisting of 3 queens and about 70-80 workers. These were rather unceremoniously decanted into the top of my wooden formicarium, where they proceeded to make a really elaborate nest.
It was only after several weeks that I realized the smaller workers were managing to tunnel their way around the panes of glass, and were finding their way outside the nest. I had not told David to seal the glass into the frame, so I needed to act fast. I did not know where to find the sealer that is used on fish tanks, so I had to resort to linseed oil putty and hoped it would not harm the ants in any way.
I had that formicarium for 7 years before it finally came to its end by being dropped; and of course as it was made with glass, it was quite a mess to clean up the shards. Still, it did break outside, so the ants were able to escape into the wild; and I did have a lot of fun from it while it lasted.
Good Old Steam Trains.
How many of us can remember the good old steam trains? The days when leaning over a railway bridge to watch the Manchester to London express train meant getting a face full of thick black smoke, followed closely by a waft of hot steam as the train belched forth great volumes of both. Well they did run on coal in those days instead of diesel oil or electricity; and they relied on tons of coal and gallons of water to make the engine run, but they had a smell all of their own!
All the old steam locomotives has names too, like the "Mallard" or the "Flying Scotsman". Okay, so the modern trains are much cleaner and travel faster; but they don't have the same character and charismatic appeal as the old ones. Back in the 1950's you could stand and wave at the passengers on a train, and they would wave back at you. Now the train rushes by so quickly, the passengers are just a blur; and train spotters seem to be an extinct race.
Not that I am advocating that any child or even a responsible adult should hang around railway tracks, as it was an extremely dangerous practice to do then; and today is even more so. It is still rather sad to think though that much of the magic of watching a train is no more. A slow goods train seen travelling after dark was an awesome sight, as it was like watching a large ponderous dragon meandering across the countryside, as it belched fire and smoke into the atmosphere. Yes it did pollute the air, but it was a magical beast to a little boy.
Trains today can travel at speeds in excess of 200mph, while the old "puffing billies" hardly ever exceeded 75mph. Thank goodness for many of the societies which have re-opened many of the old rail tracks in Britain and restored some of our lovely old steam trains. Not that actually being a passenger in a carriage pulled by a steam train is much different from being in a new electric train; but stand on a railway station and watch the departure or arrival of a steam locomotive, and then you'll certainly see the difference, as the magic of the steam wafts over you like a witches spell. Young children who've never seen a steam train in their lives are guaranteed to be captivated by it, I can assure you.
The one train I would love to travel on is the one which goes from Llanberis up to the summit of Snowdon in North Wales. I am not certain if it is a steam train, though it would be a most interesting journey to undertake; and there is also a steam train which runs between Blaenau Ffestiniog to Porthmadog which is another lovely trip.
All I can say is, if you get the opportunity to see a steam train in action; or better still, to travel on one; then go for it, as it is an experience you will never forget!!
