This bee broke my Dad’s arm

On 30 March 1980 my father picked me up from my student flat in Brighton and we headed off to the old sand pit in Rewell Wood near Arundel West Sussex. It was a fine day and the disused quarry promised some unusual early spring bees and wasps, just starting their nest burrows in the scrubby but still sun-exposed vertical sand faces.
Dad and I often met up like this, a chance for father/son wanderings together in the Weald or across the South Downs of Sussex. As usual I’d mainly be looking at insects and he’d also be recording plants, but the sand pit, at the start of our countryside ramble, offered common interest in the Hymenoptera.
We hadn’t been there long, however, when Dad came over to me looking slightly sheepish. He’d tripped whilst trying to net a bee, and hurt his shoulder. He wasn’t in excruciating pain, but complained of discomfort in his upper left arm. What to do?
He was unable to drive with only one arm, but the thought of calling an ambulance only added to his embarrassment. So I set off the country mile to the pub at the next road junction to phone a friend.
We knew Mike Edwards, who lived in Midhurst, slightly. I’m not sure we’d ever been to each other’s houses, but had met him at entomological meetings on and off. He was the nearest help I knew. I made the call from the coin-operated phone on the bar. And amazingly he was in. He would rush out immediately.
Half an hour later he was there to pick up me and Dad and we headed off to Midhurst A&E. Despite a town fair completely blocking the streets with traffic, Mike negotiated inconvenient pavements and oncoming traffic as he drove down the wrong side of the road. By noon we were in the waiting room as Dad explained, trying to keep a straight face, that he had taken a tumble chasing after a bee.
He’d cracked his upper arm bone, his humerus, ha ha very amusing. No plaster was necessary, but arm in a sling for a month, and how to get back to our homes?
I can never thank Mike Edwards enough. He rounded up fellow local entomologist Chris Haes and we headed back to Rewell Wood to collect our abandoned motor. Mike would drive Dad to Newhaven, Chris would drive Dad’s car with me navigating. Having dropped off Mr Invalid, they then drove all the way back into deepest West Sussex, dropping me off in Brighton on their way through.
Sorting out some of Dad’s things I thought I’d try and find that bee. Sure enough, there it is in the catalogue against specimen number 3879: “Flying in gravel pit, Rewell Wood, Tortington, 30.3.80, female Andrena clerkella. P.S. Caused a broken arm.”