Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Charlie Bucket #1)

by Roald Dahl

The only meals they could afford were bread and margarine for breakfast, boiled potatoes and cabbage for lunch, and cabbage soup for supper. Sundays were a bit better. They all looked forward to Sundays because then, although they had exactly the same, everyone was allowed a second helping.

‘Happy birthday!’ cried the four old grandparents, as Charlie came into their room early the next morning. Charlie smiled nervously and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was holding his present, his only present, very carefully in his two hands. WONKA’S WHIPPLE-SCRUMPTIOUS FUDGEMALLOW DELIGHT, it said on the wrapper.

‘Wonka’s Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight!’ cried Grandpa George. ‘It’s the best of them all! You’ll just love it!’

All right, Mother, keep your hair on!” Miss Beauregarde shouted.

‘Beastly girl,’ said Grandma Josephine. ‘Despicable!’ said Grandma Georgina. ‘She’ll come to a sticky end one day, chewing all that gum, you see if she doesn’t.’

The four old ones lay silent and huddled in their bed, trying to keep the cold out of their bones. The excitement over the Golden Tickets had long since been forgotten. Nobody in the family gave a thought now to anything except the two vital problems of trying to keep warm and trying to get enough to eat.

There is something about very cold weather that gives one an enormous appetite. Most of us find ourselves beginning to crave rich steaming stews and hot apple pies and all kinds of delicious warming dishes; and because we are all a great deal luckier than we realize, we usually get what we want – or near enough. But Charlie Bucket never got what he wanted because the family couldn’t afford it, and as the cold weather went on and on, he became ravenously and desperately hungry.

‘Oompa-Loompas!’ everyone said at once. ‘Oompa-Loompas!’ ‘Imported direct from Loompaland,’ said Mr Wonka proudly. ‘There’s no such place,’ said Mrs Salt. ‘Excuse me, dear lady, but …’ ‘Mr Wonka,’ cried Mrs Salt. ‘I’m a teacher of geography …’ ‘Then you’ll know all about it,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘And oh, what a terrible country it is! Nothing but thick jungles infested by the most dangerous beasts in the world – hornswogglers and snozzwangers and those terrible wicked whangdoodles.

But this revolting boy, of course, Was so unutterably vile, So greedy, foul, and infantile, He left a most disgusting taste Inside our mouths, and so in haste We chose a thing that, come what may, Would take the nasty taste away.

Slowly, the wheels go round and round, The cogs begin to grind and pound; A hundred knives go slice, slice, slice; We add some sugar, cream, and spice; We boil him for a minute more, Until we’re absolutely sure That all the greed and all the gall Is boiled away for once and all. Then out he comes! And now! By grace! A miracle has taken place! This boy, who only just before Was loathed by men from shore to shore, This greedy brute, this louse’s ear, Is loved by people everywhere! For who could hate or bear a grudge Against a luscious bit of fudge?’

‘He’s crazy!’ they shouted. ‘He’s barmy!’ ‘He’s nutty!’ ‘He’s screwy!’ ‘He’s batty!’ ‘He’s dippy!’ ‘He’s dotty!’ ‘He’s daffy!’ ‘He’s goofy!’ ‘He’s beany!’ ‘He’s buggy!’ ‘He’s wacky!’ ‘He’s loony!’ ‘No, he is not!’ said Grandpa Joe.

Mr Wonka was jumping up and down in the back of the boat and calling to the rowers to row faster and faster still. He seemed to love the sensation of whizzing through a white tunnel in a pink boat on a chocolate river, and he clapped his hands and laughed and kept glancing at his passengers to see if they were enjoying it as much as he.

They streaked past a black door. STOREROOM NUMBER 71, it said on it. WHIPS – ALL SHAPES AND SIZES. ‘Whips!’ cried Veruca Salt. ‘What on earth do you use whips for?’ ‘For whipping cream, of course,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘How can you whip cream without whips? Whipped cream isn’t whipped cream at all unless it’s been whipped with whips. Just as a poached egg isn’t a poached egg unless it’s been stolen from the woods in the dead of night! Row on, please!’

They passed a yellow door on which it said: STOREROOM NUMBER 77 – ALL THE BEANS, CACAO BEANS, COFFEE BEANS, JELLY BEANS, AND HAS BEANS. ‘Has beans?’ cried Violet Beauregarde. ‘You’re one yourself!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘There’s no time for arguing! Press on, press on!’ But five seconds later, when a bright red door came into sight ahead, he suddenly waved his gold-topped cane in the air and shouted, ‘Stop the boat!’

Mr Wonka himself had suddenly become even more excited than usual, and anyone could see that this was the room he loved best of all. He was hopping about among the saucepans and the machines like a child among his Christmas presents, not knowing which thing to look at first.

HOT ICE CREAMS FOR COLD DAYS, it said on the next door. ‘Extremely useful in the winter,’ said Mr Wonka, rushing on. ‘Hot ice cream warms you up no end in freezing weather. I also make hot ice cubes for putting in hot drinks. Hot ice cubes make hot drinks hotter.’

COWS THAT GIVE CHOCOLATE MILK, it said on the next door. ‘Ah, my pretty little cows!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘How I love those cows!’ ‘But why can’t we see them?’ asked Veruca Salt. ‘Why do we have to go rushing on past all these lovely rooms?’ ‘We shall stop in time!’ called out Mr Wonka. ‘Don’t be so madly impatient!’

‘But how do you come down again?’ asked little Charlie. ‘You do a burp, of course,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘You do a great big long rude burp, and up comes the gas and down comes you! But don’t drink it outdoors! There’s no knowing how high up you’ll be carried if you do that. I gave some to an old Oompa-Loompa once out in the back yard and he went up and up and disappeared out of sight! It was very sad. I never saw him again.’ ‘He should have burped,’ Charlie said. ‘Of course he should have burped,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘I stood there shouting, “Burp, you silly ass, burp, or you’ll never come down again!” But he didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t, I don’t know which. Maybe he was too polite. He must be on the moon by now.’

‘There you are!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘Square sweets that look round!’ ‘They don’t look round to me,’ said Mike Teavee. ‘They look square,’ said Veruca Salt. ‘They look completely square.’ ‘But they are square,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘I never said they weren’t.’ ‘You said they were round!’ said Veruca Salt. ‘I never said anything of the sort,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘I said they looked round.’ ‘But they don’t look round!’ said Veruca Salt. ‘They look square!’ ‘They look round,’ insisted Mr Wonka. ‘They most certainly do not look round!’ cried Veruca Salt. ‘Veruca, darling,’ said Mrs Salt, ‘pay no attention to Mr Wonka! He’s lying to you!’ ‘My dear old fish,’ said Mr Wonka, ‘go and boil your head!’ ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ shouted Mrs Salt. ‘Oh, do shut up,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Now watch this!’ He took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door, and flung it open … and suddenly … at the sound of the door opening, all the rows of little square sweets looked quickly round to see who was coming in. The tiny faces actually turned towards the door and stared at Mr Wonka.

‘Veruca Salt, the little brute, Has just gone down the rubbish chute (And as we very rightly thought That in a case like this we ought To see the thing completely through, We’ve polished off her parents, too).

But now, my dears, we think you might Be wondering – is it really right That every single bit of blame And all the scolding and the shame Should fall upon Veruca Salt? Is she the only one at fault? For though she’s spoiled, and dreadfully so, A girl can’t spoil herself, you know. Who spoiled her, then? Ah, who indeed? Who pandered to her every need? Who turned her into such a brat? Who are the culprits? Who did that? Alas! You needn’t look so far To find out who these sinners are. They are (and this is very sad) Her loving parents, MUM and DAD. And that is why we’re glad they fell Into the rubbish chute as well.’

EXPLODING SWEETS FOR YOUR ENEMIES.

CAVITY-FILLING CARAMELS – NO MORE DENTISTS.

STICKJAW FOR TALKATIVE PARENTS.

INVISIBLE CHOCOLATE BARS FOR EATING IN CLASS.

But did you ever stop to think, To wonder just exactly what This does to your beloved tot? IT ROTS THE SENSES IN THE HEAD! IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD! IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND! IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND! HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE! HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE! HE CANNOT THINK – HE ONLY SEES!

“All right!” you’ll cry. “All right!” you’ll say, “But if we take the set away, What shall we do to entertain Our darling children! Please explain!” We’ll answer this by asking you, “What used the darling ones to do? How used they keep themselves contented Before this monster was invented?” Have you forgotten? Don’t you know? We’ll say it very loud and slow: THEY … USED … TO … READ! They’d READ and READ, AND READ and READ, and then proceed TO READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!