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It is only when the parents begin telling us about the brilliance of their own revolting offspring, that we start shouting, “Bring us a basin! We’re going to be sick!”
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells
Animal Farm by George Orwell
she kept a small box in the outhouse
The books transported her into new worlds and introduced her to amazing people who lived exciting lives. She went on olden-day sailing ships with Joseph Conrad. She went to Africa with Ernest Hemingway and to India with Rudyard Kipling. She travelled all over the world while sitting in her little room in an English village.
Superglue is very powerful stuff, so powerful it will take your skin off if you pull too hard. Mr Wormwood didn’t want to be scalped so he had to keep the hat on his head the whole day long, even when putting sawdust in gear-boxes and fiddling the mileages of cars with his electric drill.
“Serve him right,” Mrs Wormwood said. “He shouldn’t have put his finger up there in the first place. It’s a nasty habit. If all children had Superglue put on their fingers they’d soon stop doing it.” Matilda said, “Grown-ups do it too, mummy. I saw you doing it yesterday in the kitchen.” “That’s quite enough from you,” Mrs Wormwood said, turning pink.
And later on, as she watched her skinny little husband skulking around the bedroom in his purple-striped pyjamas with a pork-pie hat on his head, she thought how stupid he looked. Hardly the kind of man a wife dreams about, she told herself.
She kept right on reading, and for some reason this infuriated the father. Perhaps his anger was intensified because he saw her getting pleasure from something that was beyond his reach.
There seemed little doubt that the man felt some kind of jealousy. How dare she, he seemed to be saying with each rip of a page, how dare she enjoy reading books when he couldn’t? How dare she?
“It’s burglars!” hissed the mother. “They’re in the dining-room!” “I think they are,” the father said, sitting tight. “Then go and catch them, Harry!” hissed the mother. “Go out and collar them red-handed!” The father didn’t move. He seemed in no hurry to dash off and be a hero. His face had turned grey.
“I know it’s a ghost!” Matilda said. “I’ve heard it here before! This room is haunted! I thought you knew that.”
“Good strong hair,” he was fond of saying, “means there’s a good strong brain underneath.” “Like Shakespeare,” Matilda had once said to him. “Like who?” “Shakespeare, daddy.” “Was he brainy?” “Very, daddy.” “He had masses of hair, did he?” “He was bald, daddy.” To which the father had snapped, “If you can’t talk sense then shut up.”
“I think you will,” the mother said. “Peroxide is a very powerful chemical. It’s what they put down the lavatory to disinfect the pan only they give it another name.” “What are you saying!” the husband cried. “I’m not a lavatory pan! I don’t want to be disinfected!”
when she marched along a corridor you could actually hear her snorting as she went, and if a group of children happened to be in her path, she ploughed right on through them like a tank, with small people bouncing off her to left and right.
Now most head teachers are chosen because they possess a number of fine qualities. They understand children and they have the children’s best interests at heart. They are sympathetic. They are fair and they are deeply interested in education. Miss Trunchbull possessed none of these qualities and how she ever got her present job was a mystery.
She looked, in short, more like a rather eccentric and bloodthirsty follower of the stag-hounds than the headmistress of a nice school for children.
“This child has already read an astonishing number of books,” Miss Honey said. “I was simply trying to find out if she came from a family that loved good literature.” “We don’t hold with book-reading,” Mr Wormwood said. “You can’t make a living from sitting on your fanny and reading story-books. We don’t keep them in the house.”
Matilda said, “Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it’s unbelievable. No parent is going to believe this pigtail story, not in a million years. Mine wouldn’t. They’d call me a liar.”
When a gentleman has had a particularly good meal, Bogtrotter, he always sends his compliments to the chef. You didn’t know that, did you, Bogtrotter? But those who inhabit the criminal underworld are not noted for their good manners.”
The cook stood there like a shrivelled bootlace,