Gardens could be part of the solution to the climate and biodiversity crisis. But what are we doing? Disappearing them beneath plastic and paving

In my 20s I lived in Manchester, on the sixth floor of a block of council flats just off the A57, or Mancunian (Mancy) Way. A short walk from Manchester Piccadilly station and the city centre, it was grey, noisy and built up. I loved every piece of it – my first stab at adulthood, at living on my own. I painted my bedroom silver and slept on a mattress on the floor, and I grew sweetcorn, tomatoes and courgettes in pots on the balcony. (I was 24 – of course I grew sweetcorn on the balcony.)

I worked and played in the bars and clubs of Manchester’s gay village, and I would walk home in the early hours, keys poking through my clenched fist to protect me from would-be attackers, and I would see hedgehogs.

Enlarge / 2023 marked the first sighting of a yellow-legged hornet in the United States, sparking fears that it may spread and devastate honeybees as it has in parts of Europe. (credit: Miguel Riopa/AFP via Getty Images)

In early August 2023, a beekeeper near the port of Savannah, Georgia, noticed some odd activity around his hives. Something was hunting his honeybees. It was a flying insect bigger than a yellowjacket, mostly black with bright yellow legs. The creature would hover at the hive entrance, capture a honeybee in flight, and butcher it before darting off with the bee’s thorax, the meatiest bit.

“He’d only been keeping bees since March… but he knew enough to know that something wasn’t right with this thing,” says Lewis Bartlett, an evolutionary ecologist and honeybee expert at the University of Georgia, who helped to investigate. Bartlett had seen these honeybee hunters before, during his PhD studies in England a decade earlier. The dreaded yellow-legged hornet had arrived in North America.

With origins in Afghanistan, eastern China, and Indonesia, the yellow-legged hornet, Vespa velutina, has expanded during the last two decades into South Korea, Japan, and Europe. When the hornet invades new territory, it preys on honeybees, bumblebees, and other vulnerable insects. One yellow-legged hornet can kill up to dozens of honeybees in a single day. It can decimate colonies through intimidation by deterring honeybees from foraging. “They’re not to be messed with,” says honeybee researcher Gard Otis, professor emeritus at the University of Guelph in Canada.

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Ever since this ‘killer’ species arrived in the UK in 2016, there have been horror stories about it – and they have picked up pace in recent months. So are these hornets nasty predators or just misunderstood?

Can a single insect reshape history? A queen hornet from the Vespa velutina species, which is believed to have stowed away in Chinese pottery, could make that claim. She was shipped to the port of Bordeaux in 2004. Having already mated with multiple males, she flew off into the sunshine of south-west France and built a nest. From that single nest, up to 500 new queens could have emerged. For a few years, her offspring quietly prospered. By the time the authorities paid attention to this predatory yellow-legged carnivore, known as the Asian hornet, it was too late. Twenty years on, France is home to an estimated 500,000 nests, while the hornet has cruised into Spain, Portugal, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands – and the UK.

Ever since the first Asian hornet turned up in Tetbury, Gloucestershire, in 2016, there have been horror stories about this “killer”, a “nasty” predator that decimates much-loved honeybees and may threaten human livelihoods and health. The stories have reached fever pitch recently: “UK Asian hornet hotspots mapped as killer species invades Britain” warned the Express on Tuesday. We love a good villain, especially a “foreign” one. But is this media scaremongering? How destructive is this recent European arrival? And will it become a permanent British resident this summer?

The No Mow May campaign has persuaded local authorities to protect biodiversity. But bigger changes are needed

This time last year, residents of the council estate where I live in Greenwich were left in tears after local authority contractors mowed down scores of newly planted purple alliums on our shared lawn just days after they’d bloomed. In minutes, one man with a strimmer had reduced the flowers that my neighbours, many of whom do not have private gardens, had grown over months to mere mulch.

Shamefaced, this year the council sought to make amends by sowing a biodiversity meadow near where the alliums had met their fate. The new wildflowers were doing well – on track to compensate for the previous year’s blunder – until, to the consternation of residents, they were yet again mown down by council contractors. Even the local authorities’ own efforts to improve the biodiversity of the borough proved no match for its trigger-happy lawnmower men.

Phineas Harper is a writer and curator