March 27- April 2, 2011 Issue 14

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MatildaEpisode:12

Have you ever been in there?” Lavender asked. “My first term I was in there six times, “ Horten-sia said. “Twice for a whole day

and the other times for two hours each. But two hours is quite bad enough. It’s pitch dark and you have to stand up dead straight and if you wobble at all you get spiked either by the glass on the walls or the nails on the door. “Why were you put in?” Matilda asked. “What had you done?”“The first time”, Hortensia said, “I poured half a tin of golden Syrup on to the seat of the chair the Trunchbull was going to sit on at prayers. It was wonderful. When she lowered herself into the chair, there was a loud squelching noise similar to that made by a hippopotamus when lowering its foot

into the mud on the banks of the Lim-popo River. But you’re too small

and stupid to have read the Just So Stories, aren’t you?”

“I’ve read them, “ Matilda said. “You’re a liar, “ Hortensia said amiably. “You can’t even read yet. But no matter. So when the Trunchbull sat down on the Golden Syrup, the squelch was beautiful. And when she jumped up again, the chair sort of stuck to the seat of those awful green breeches she wears and came up with her for a few seconds until the thick syrup slowly came unstuck. Then she clasped her hands to the seat of her breeches and both hands got covered in the muck. You should have heard her bellow. ““But how did she know it was you?” Laven-der asked. “A little squirt called Ollie Bogwhistle sneaked on me, “ Hortensia said. “I knocked his front teeth out. “ “And the Trunchbull put you in The Chokey for a whole day?” Matilda asked, gulping.? ”She’s mad, “ Hortensia said. “But don’t the parents complain?” Matilda asked.“Would yours?” Hortensia asked. “I know mine wouldn’t. She treats the mothers and fathers just the same as the children and they’re all scared to death of her. I’ll be see-

ing you some time, you two. “ And with

that she sauntered away. Bruce Bogtrot-ter and the Cake “How can she get away with it?” Laven-der said to Matilda. “Surely the children go home and tell their mothers and fathers. I know my father would raise a terrific stink if I told him the Headmistress had grabbed me by the hair and slung me over the play-ground fence. “ “No, he wouldn’t, “ Matilda said, “and I’ll tell you why.go into the Assembly Hall and be seated as soon as the meal was over. When all the two hundred and fifty or so boys and girls were settled down in Assembly, the Trunchbull marched on to the platform. None of the other teach-ers came in with her. She was carrying a riding-crop in her right hand. She stood up there on centre stage in her green breeches with legs apart and riding-crop in hand, glaring at the sea of upturned faces before her. “What’s going to happen?” Lavender whispered.“I don’t know, “ Matilda whis-pered back.The whole school waited for what was coming next. “Bruce Bogtrotter!” the Trunchbull barked suddenly. “Where is Bruce Bogtrotter?”A hand shot up among the seated children. “Come up here!” the Trunchbull shouted. “And look smart about it!” An eleven-year-old boy who was decidedly large and round stood up and waddled briskly forward. He climbed up on to theplatform. “Stand over there!” the Trunchbull ordered, pointing.

The boy stood to one side. He looked nervous. He knew very well he wasn’t up there to be presented with a prize. He was watching the Headmistress with an exceedingly wary eye and he kept edging farther and farther away from her with little shuffles of his feet, rather as a rat might edge away from a terrier that is watching it from across the room. His plump flabby face had turned grey with fearful apprehension. His stockings hung about his ankles. “This clot, “ boomed the Headmistress, pointing the riding-crop at him like a rapier, “this blackhead, this foul carbun-cle, this poisonous pustule that you see before you is none other than a disgusting criminal, a denizen of the underworld, a member of the Mafia!” “Who, me?” Bruce Bogtrotter said, looking genuinely puzzled.(to be continued...)

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