Night of the Queen Wasp

I'd seen her buzzing around earlier that day. Always the roof of my caravan. A big wasp.

Well, there was nothing up there to interest a wasp! Just the roof hatches, and they were firmly shut. They had lips to them, where an insect might get temporary shelter from the wind and rain. Both were forecast that evening. But I wasn't concerned that this wasp would build a nest, and dismissed the creature from my mind. I went off to Dartmouth for the afternoon (a post on that soon).

In the evening, after cooking, eating and washing up, I settled down to the usual routine of photo editing while listening to the radio. Around 9.45pm I became aware of a buzzing noise from the rear part of the caravan. That wasp? Had she somehow got in? At first I couldn't pin down the source of the buzzing. It wasn't from the rear window. Ah, the roof hatch...

I have three roof openings. One is the big sun roof in the front end of the caravan. I open that daily. Then there are two others, much smaller, both the same, one in the kitchen area (as above) and another in the bathroom. I hardly ever open these, because it's a fiddle to do so, and I can open a window instead. These two smaller hatches have fly screens that hinge downwards so that you can get at push-up handles that open a gap for fresh air to get in. Then you hinge the fly screens back - in theory: they tend to get stuck in the 'down' position, and you have to strain the hinges to make them move. In fact, over time, these hinges fail and break. (I wish they didn't use plastics in caravans - given long enough, every plastic fitment becomes brittle and snaps) It was clear that, despite the hatch itself being shut, the wasp had still managed to get herself through some ventilation holes. But she was now trapped behind the fly screen, buzzing with frustration. She might well buzz all night and stop me getting to sleep. I'd have to deal with this.

I'm not tolerant of any insects sharing my space. If I am aware of them, they have to go. I do know that most of the time they are there, and if I can't see them, and they remain quiet and unobtrusive, then I'm not bothered. But if they fly about and buzz, then I either expel them or kill them. It's maddening to have a fly buzzing about my house. Doubly so in the confined space of my little caravan.

Plan A was now to release the wasp, rather than try to kill it. But to attempt that, I'd have to open the hatch, and that meant hingeing the fly screen out of the way first. OK, here goes. I swung down the fly screen. Hmm, no sign of the wasp. I pushed upwards on the handles, and a gap appeared all around the hatch. A golden opportunity for a sensible wasp to escape into the night. But oh no - some vast flying thing with huge, moth-sized wings flew past my nose into the interior of the caravan, settling on a cupboard door. Damn.

It really was a very large wasp. A queen wasp, surely. How aggressive could she be? What to do now? How long had I got before the fearsome creature took stock and decided that it was all my fault?

A woman of lesser breeding would have fled the caravan screaming. But the Melfords are not of lesser breeding. They fought at Agincourt. They stand their ground. It was time for Plan B. I went into Combat Mode.

Coolly, I put on my green rubber washing-up gloves. Coolly, I picked up the yellow cloth I use for wiping the kitchen surfaces. It was still damp. All the better. With icy deliberation and steel nerves I bunched this cloth up into a ball and pressed it hard against the queen wasp. She never knew the danger. I stayed there, pressing on her, for a full minute. I was taking no chances, because insects can be very hard to kill, and I didn't want her coming to life when I raised the cloth to take a look, and venting her fury on me. But no, I'd crushed the life out of her. Her wings twitched a couple of times, perhaps involuntarily, then she was still.

Here she is. That's a normal-sized Yale key in the picture, as some indicator of the queen wasp's great size. You have to make an adjustment for perspective - the key is close to the camera lens and therefore appears larger than it actually is, but the further-away wasp still looks big.

Well! I felt huge relief that I had acted fast and neutralised this stinging machine before she could secrete herself in some nook or cranny, to emerge later, seeking a living victim. I picked her up with my long stainless-steel cooking tongs and dunked her into a cup of tea, with the notion of drowning her in case life still persisted. Then I went outside and flung her into the hedge. I would have tossed her carcase further away, but it was starting to rain heavily and I didn't want to get soaked.

Brushes like this with the more harmful side of nature do not often happen in my life, and for a while I felt more than somewhat shaken. But that soon passed.

I don't feel like this with spiders. Spiders can be creepy, but at all times you know they are little animals and different from insects. For preference I'd rather not share my space with a big spider, but they do seem to behave with a certain amount of judgement and discretion, trying to avoid me if they can, and becoming docile when they can't. The usual UK domestic spiders are harmless, and they are definitely useful, an ally in the summer battle against flies.

But wasps? I can't think of anything to be said for them. It still goes against the grain to kill any creature, even one like this, but they can't be herded or gently shuffled off the scene. I have at least reduced next year's baby wasp population by several thousand, at least in the Modbury area.