Matilda

by Roald Dahl

Bruce Bogtrotter who was sitting on his chair like some huge overstuffed grub,

The boy was by now so full of cake he was like a sackful of wet cement and you couldn’t have hurt him with a sledge-hammer.

Understandable.

Admittedly the enemy on this occasion was not Napoleon. But you would never have got anyone at Crunchem Hall to admit that the Headmistress was a less formidable foe than the famous Frenchman.

It is an incredibly ugly gruesome-looking animal, rather like a baby crocodile but with a shorter head.

:(

A boy next door called Rupert Entwistle had told her that if you chopped off a newt’s tail, the tail stayed alive and grew into another newt ten times bigger than the first one. It could be the size of an alligator. Lavender didn’t quite believe that, but she was not prepared to risk it happening.

Today it was sausages and baked beans, Lavender’s favourite,

This always sounds so good

“Nigel Hicks what?” the Trunchbull bellowed. She bellowed so loud she nearly blew the little chap out of the window.

“You!” she barked, pointing at a small boy called Rupert in the front row. “What is two sevens?” “Sixteen,” Rupert answered with foolish abandon.

Bye Rupert

You stupid glob of glue!”

Rude.

The Trunchbull had as great a dislike for long hair on boys as she had for plaits and pigtails on girls and she was about to show it.

Well, at least she's consistent.

it

It,

“But surely you were a small person once, Miss Trunchbull, weren’t you?” “I was never a small person,” she snapped. “I have been large all my life and I don’t see why others can’t be the same way.”

“Eric what?” the Trunchbull shouted. “Ink,” the boy said. “Don’t be an ass, boy! There’s no such name!”

“Spell what, you idiot! Spell the word ‘what’!” “W . . . O . . . T,” Eric said, answering too quickly.

Oh dear.

Eric hesitated. Then he said very slowly, “It’s not W . . . O . . . T, and it’s not W . . . H . . . O . . . T. Ah, I know. It must be W . . . H . . . O . . . T . . . T.”

Worser and worser

“Miss Trunchbull! Don’t! Please let him go! His ears might come off!” “They’ll never come off,” the Trunchbull shouted back. “I have discovered through long experience, Miss Honey, that the ears of small boys are stuck very firmly to their heads.”

“Ears never come off!” the Trunchbull shouted. “They stretch most marvellously, like these are doing now, but I can assure you they never come off!”

any thing!”

Anything

You must take me for a fool! Do you take me for a fool, child?” “Well . . . ” Matilda said, then she hesitated. She would like to have said, “Yes, I jolly well do,” but that would have been suicide.

on to

Onto

I shall have the prefects chase you down the corridor and out of the front-door with hockey-sticks!

That's awfully specific

on to

Onto

The Trunchbull, her face more like a boiled ham than ever,

“Tip

Tip,

on to

Onto

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons and there were blackberries and splashes of old man’s beard in the hedges, and the hawthorn berries were ripening scarlet for the birds when the cold winter came along.

I can't wait for fall <3

“Do you live all by yourself, Miss Honey?” she asked. “Yes,” Miss Honey said. “Very much so.”

The best way to live IMO

On either side of the path there was a wilderness of nettles and blackberry thorns and long brown grass. An enormous oak tree stood overshadowing the cottage. Its massive spreading branches seemed to be enfolding and embracing the tiny building, and perhaps hiding it as well from the rest of the world.

This sounds so lovely

“A poet called Dylan Thomas once wrote some lines that I think of every time I walk up this path.”

“Never and never, my girl riding far and near Fear or believe that the wolf in the sheepwhite hood Loping and bleating roughly and blithely shall leap, my dear, my dear, Out of a lair in the flocked leaves in the dew dipped year To eat your heart in the house in the rosy wood.”

on to

Onto

Although you look like a child, you are not really a child at all because your mind and your powers of reasoning seem to be fully grown-up. So I suppose we might call you a grown-up child, if you see what I mean.”

“Well,” Miss Honey said, “when I got my teacher’s job, the aunt told me I owed her a lot of money. I asked her why. She said, ‘Because I’ve been feeding you for all these years and buying your shoes and your clothes!’

Umm no she owes you back wages for a decade of unpaid labor

for ever?”

Forever

any more,

Anymore

on to

Onto

From then on, every day after school, Matilda shut herself in her room and practised with the cigar. And soon it all began to come together in the most wonderful way. Six days later, by the following Wednesday evening, she was able not only to lift the cigar up into the air but also to move it around exactly as she wished.

How are your ears, Eric, after your last encounter with Miss Trunchbull?” “She stretched them,” Eric said. “My mother said she’s positive they are bigger than they were.”

I bet.

“And you, Nigel,” Miss Honey said, “do please try not to be smart-aleck with the Headmistress today. You were really quite cheeky to her last week.” “I hate her,” Nigel said.

DON'T WE ALL.

“I doubt you would,” Miss Honey said. “No one has ever got the better of her yet.”

Give it a minute.

“Recite the three-times table backwards!” the Trunchbull barked. “Backwards?” stammered Wilfred. “But I haven’t learnt it backwards.” “There you are!” cried the Trunchbull, triumphant. “She’s taught you nothing! Miss Honey, why have you taught them absolutely nothing at all in the last week?”

GOP logic be like

There is little point in teaching anything backwards. The whole object of life, Headmistress, is to go forwards. I venture to ask whether even you, for example, can spell a simple word like wrong backwards straight away. I very much doubt it.”

Yeah git 'er Miss Honey

I have eight coconuts, eight monkey-nuts and eight nutty little idiots like you. How many nuts do I have altogether?

A WHOLE LOTTA NUTS

wurzel

Wurzel,

on to

Onto

Then she yelled at nobody in particular, “Who’s doing this? Who’s writing it?”

Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy.

Everyone in the place heard the gasp that came from the Trunchbull’s throat. “No!” she cried, “It can’t be! It can’t be Magnus!”

I'm no expert but that sounds like an admission of guilt to me

room

Room,

Nigel, always ready for action, leapt up and seized the big jug of water. “My father says cold water is the best way to wake up someone who’s fainted,” he said, and with that he tipped the entire contents of the jug over the Trunchbull’s head. No one, not even Miss Honey, protested.

This man has a future in the medical field.

“By golly, somebody’s floored her at last!” cried one of the men, grinning. “Congratulations, Miss Honey!”

You know what? I love his faith in Miss Honey. :'D