Chairlie and the chocolate works

First published 2016
by Black & White Publishing Ltd.
29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL
www.blackandwhitepublishing.com
This electronic edition published in 2016

ISBN: 978 1 78530 101 8 in EPub format
ISBN: 978 1 78530 083 7 in paperback format


Originally published as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Alfred A Knopf, Inc. in 1964

Text copyright © Roald Dahl Nominee Ltd, 1964
Illustrations copyright © Quentin Blake, 1995
Translation copyright © Matthew Fitt 2016


The right of Matthew Fitt to be identified as the translator of this work has been asserted by
him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.


All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.


A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Ebook compilation by Iolaire, Newtonmore

For Theo

Contents

title page

1. Here Cams Chairlie
2. Mr Wullie Wonka’s Works
3. Mr Wonka and the Indian Prince
4. The Secret Warkers
5. The Gowden Tickets
6. The First Twa Finders
7. Chairlie’s Birthday
8. Twa Mair Gowden Tickets Foond
9. Granda Jock Taks a Gamble
10. The Faimly Sterts tae Sterve
11. The Miracle
12. Whit It Said on the Gowden Ticket
13. The Muckle Big Day Arrives
14. Mr Wullie Wonka
15. The Chocolate Chaumer
16. The Heedrum-Hodrums
17. Augustus Gowp Gangs Up the Pipe

18. Doon the Chocolate River
19. The Inventin Chaumer - Never-Stap Gubstappers and Hairy Gundy
20. The Graund Gum Machine
21. Cheerio Violet
22. Ben the Loabby
23. Square Sweeties That Look Roond
24. Veruca in the Nut Chaumer
25. The Muckle Gless Lift
26. The Television-Chocolate Chaumer
27. Mike Teeveeheid is Sent by Television
28. Ainly Chairlie Left
29. The Ither Bairns Gang Hame
30. Chairlie’s Chocolate Works

There are five bairns in this book:

AUGUSTUS GOWP
A greedy laddie

VERUCA SAUT
A lassie wha is spiled by her parents

VIOLET BOAKREGARDE
A lassie wha chaws chawin-gum aw day lang

MIKE TEEVEEHEID
A laddie wha does naethin but glower at the television

and

CHAIRLIE BAFFIE
The hero

1
Here Cams Chairlie

Thir twa awfie auld folk are the faither and mither o Mr Baffie. They are
cawed Granda Jock and Grannie Jockina.

And thir twa awfie auld folk are the faither and mither o Mrs Baffie. They
are cawed Granda Geordie and Grannie Geordietta.

Yon’s Mr Baffie. Yon’s Mrs Baffie.
Mr and Mrs Baffie hae a wee laddie whase name is Chairlie Baffie.

This is Chairlie.
Hoo’s it gaun? And hoo’s it gaun? And hoo’s it gaun again? He is gled tae

meet ye.

The haill o this faimly – the six aulder folk (gaun, coont them) and wee
Chairlie Baffie – bide thegither in a wee widden hoose on the edge o a muckle
toun.

The hoose wisnae onywhaur near muckle enough for aw o them, and it
wisnae awfie comfortable steyin there. There were ainly twa rooms in the
haill place, and there wis ainly wan bed. They gied the bed tae the fower auld
grandparents because they were sae auld and wabbit. They were that auld and
wabbit, they never got oot o it.

Granda Jock and Grannie Jockina on wan side, Granda Geordie and
Grannie Geordietta on the ither.

Mr and Mrs Baffie and wee Chairlie Baffie sleepit in the ither room on

mattresses on the flair.
In the simmer, it wisnae that bad, but in the winter, the freezin cauld wund

blew across the flair aw nicht lang, and it wis awfie.
There wis nae wey they could afford tae buy a better hoose – or even wan

mair bed tae sleep in. They were faur ower puir for that.
Mr Baffie wis the ainly wan in the faimly wi a joab. He warked in a

toothpaste factory, whaur he sat aw day lang at a bench and screwed the wee
caps ontae the taps o the tubes o toothpaste efter the tubes had been filled. But
a toothpaste cap-screwer is never peyed muckle siller, and puir Mr Baffie, nae
maitter hoo hard he warked, and nae maitter hoo fast he screwed on thae caps,
wis never able tae mak enough bawbees tae buy hauf the things his faimly
needit. There werenae even enough bawbees tae buy them aw proper scran.
The ainly meals they could afford were breid and margarine tae their
breakfast, biled tatties and kail tae their denner, and kail soup tae their supper.
Sundays were a bittie better. They aw looked forrit tae Sundays because then,
although it wis exactly the same, awbody got twa helpins.

Coorse, the Baffies didnae sterve but ilka yin o them – the twa auld
grandfaithers, the twa auld grannies, Chairlie’s faither, Chairlie’s mither, and
especially wee Chairlie himsel – gaed aboot fae mornin til nicht wi an awfie
toom feelin in their bellies.

Chairlie felt it warst o aw. And although his faither and mither aften didnae
tak their ain share o denner or tea and gied it tae him, it still wisnae near
enough for a growin laddie. He wis deein tae eat somethin mair fillin and
satisfeein than kail and kail soup. The yin thing he langed for mair than
onythin else wis . . . CHOCOLATE.

Walkin tae the schuil in the mornins, Chairlie could see muckle bings o
chocolate piled high in the shoap windaes, and he wid stap and glower and pit
his neb up against the gless, his mooth watterin like a spicket. Aw the time, he
wid see ither bairns takkin bars o creamy chocolate oot o their poackets and
chawin them and slabberin ower them and scoffin them doon, and for Chairlie
watchin this, yon wis pure murder.

Wance a year jist, on his birthday, Chairlie got tae hae a taste at a bit o
chocolate. The haill faimly saved up their bawbees for that yin special
occasion, and when the muckle day cam, Chairlie wis ayewis presentit wi yin
wee chocolate bar for him tae scran aw by himsel. And ilka time he got it, on
thae mervellous birthday mornins, he wid cannily pit it intae a wee widden
boax he had, and treisure it like it wis a bar o solid gowd; and for the nixt twa-

three days, he wid keek at it jist, but widnae ever touch it. Then at lang last,
when he couldnae tak it ony mair, he wid rive back a tottie bit o the paper
wrappin at yin corner tae shaw a tottie bit o chocolate, and then he wid bite a
tottie bit o it – jist enough tae let the sonsie sweet taste slaister slawly ower
his tongue. The nixt day, he wid tak anither tottie bite at it, and sae on, and sae
on. And in this wey, Chairlie wid mak his saxpenny bar o birthday chocolate
last him mair than a haill month.

But I huvnae telt ye yet aboot the wan awfie thing that fashed wee Chairlie,
the lover o chocolate, mair than onythin else. This thing, for him, wis faur,
faur warse than seein hunners o chocolate in the shoap windaes and watchin
the ither weans scrannin bars o creamy chocolate richt in front o him. It wis
the maist sair and scunnersome thing ye could imagine, and it wis this:

In the toun itsel, in sicht o the hoose whaur Chairlie steyed, there wis a
MUCKLE CHOCOLATE WORKS!

Jist imagine it!
And it wisnae jist ony muckle chocolate factory. It wis the maist muckle
and maist kenspeckle in the haill warld! It wis WONKA’S WORKS, belangin
a man cawed Mr Wullie Wonka, the greatest inventor and makar o chocolates
there ever wis. And whit a braw, mervellous place it wis and aw! It had
muckle airn yetts leadin intae it, and a muckle high waw aw roond it, and reek
boakin fae its lums, and unco wheechin soonds comin fae deep inside it. And
ootside the waws, for hauf a mile roond in ilka direction, the air wis mingin
wi the braw sweet guff o meltin chocolate!
Twiced a day, on his wey tae and fae the schuil, wee Chairlie Baffie had tae
walk richt past the yetts o the factory. And ilka time he gaed past, he wid stert
walkin awfie, awfie slaw, and he wid haud his neb high in the air and tak in
lang deep whuffs o the braw chocolately smell aw aroond him.
Och, hoo he loved the reek o it!
And och, hoo he wished he could gang inside the chocolate works and see
whit it wis aw aboot!

2

Mr Wullie Wonka’s Works

Ilka evenin, efter he had feenished his supper o wattery kail soup, Chairlie
ayewis gaed ben the hoose tae his fower grandparents’ room tae listen tae
their stories, and then tae say guid nicht.

Aw o the auld folk were ower ninety. They were as runkled as prunes, and
baney as skeletons, and durin the day, until Chairlie made his appearance,
they lay hiddled in their wan bed, twa at either end, wearin nichtcaps tae keep
their heids warm, doverin the time awa wi naethin else tae dae. But as soon as
they heard the door openin, and heard Chairlie’s voice sayin, ‘Guid evenin,
Granda Jock and Grannie Jockina, and Granda Geordie and Grannie
Geordietta,’ then aw fower o them wid suddently sit up, and their auld runkled
fizzogs wid licht up wi smiles o pleisure – and the bletherin wid begin. For
they loved this wee laddie. He wis the ainly bricht thing in their lives, and his
evenin veesits were somethin they looked forrit tae aw day. Aften, Chairlie’s
mither and faither wid cam in as weel, and staund at the door, listenin tae the
stories the auld folk telt; and sae, for mibbe hauf an oor ilka nicht, this room
wid become a blythe place, and the haill faimly wid forget it wis puir and
hungert.

Wan nicht, when Chairlie gaed in tae see his grandparents, he said tae them,
‘Is it really true that Wonka’s Chocolate Works is the maist muckle in the haill
wide warld?’

‘True?’ aw o them raired wi the wan voice. ‘Coorse it’s true! Help oor
boab, did you no ken that? It’s aboot fifty times as muckle as ony ither!’

‘And is Mr Wullie Wonka really the maist clivver chocolate makar in the
haill wide warld?’

‘Ma dear boay,’ said Granda Jock, heezin himsel up a wee bit higher on his
pillae, ‘Mr Wullie Wonka is the maist mervellous, maist wunnerfu, maist

byordinar chocolate makar the warld has ever seen! I thocht awbody kent
that!’

‘I kent he wis famous, Granda Jock, and I kent he awfie wis clivver. . .’
‘Clivver!’ yowled the auld man. ‘He’s mair than that! He’s a magician wi

chocolate! He can mak onythin – onythin he wants! Is that no a fact, ma
dears?’

The ither three auld folk noddit their heids slawly up and doon, and said,
‘Yon’s a fact! It’s as true as get oot.’

And Granda Jock said, ‘Ye mean tae say I’ve never telt ye aboot Mr Wullie
Wonka and his chocolate works?’

‘Naw, ye huvnae,’ answered Chairlie.
‘In the name o the wee man! I dinnae ken whit’s wrang wi me!!’
‘Will ye tell me noo, Granda Jock, please?’
‘Definately. Sit doon aside me on the bed and open yer lugs, ma dear.’
Granda Jock wis the auldest o the fower grandparents. He wis ninety-sax
and a hauf, and that is jist aboot as auld as onybody can be. Like aw awfie
auld folk, he wis shooglie and shilpit, and durin the day he didnae speak much
at aw. But in the evenins, when Chairlie, his darlin grandson, wis in the room,
he seemed in some mervellous wey tae growe young again. Aw his
wabbitness fell awa fae him, and he became as eident and excitit as a young
laddie.
‘Och, whit a mannie he is, yon Mr Wullie Wonka!’ cried Granda Jock. ‘Did
you ken, for example, that he has himsel inventit mair than twa hunner new
kinds o chocolate bars, ilk ane wi a different centre, ilk ane faur sweeter and
creamier and mair delicious than onythin the ither chocolate factories can
mak!’
‘That’s perfectly richt!’ yowled Grannie Jockina. ‘And he sends them tae

aw the fower corners o the earth! Is that no richt, Granda Jock?’
‘It’s richt, ma dear, it’s richt. And tae aw the kings and presidents o the

warld and aw. But it isnae jist chocolate bars he maks. Och, haivers, awa ye
go, it’s no! He has a wheen o awfie wunnerfu inventions up his sark sleeve,
Mr Wullie Wonka has! Did you ken that he’s inventit a wey o makkin ice
cream sae it steys cauld for oors and oors wioot haein tae go in the fridge? Ye
can lea it lyin oot in the sun aw mornin on a hoat day and it’ll no get meltit!’

‘But yon’s impossible!’ said wee Chairlie, gawpin at his grandfaither.
‘‘Coorse it’s impossible!’ cried Granda Jock. ‘It’s completely glaikit! But
Mr Wullie Wonka can dae it!’
‘‘That’s richt!’ the ithers agreed, noddin their heids. ‘Mr Wullie Wonka can
dae onythin.’
‘And ken whit?’ Granda Jock cairried on speakin awfie slawly noo sae that
Chairlie widnae miss a word, ‘Mr Wullie Wonka can mak marshmallaes that
taste o violets, and rich caramels that chynge colour ilka ten seconds when
ye’re sookin them, and wee feddery sweeties that melt awa deliciously the
meenit ye pit them atween yer lips. He can mak chawin-gum that never loses
its chaw, and sugar balloons that ye can blaw up tae eediotically muckle sizes
afore ye pop them wi a peen and wolf them doon. And, by a maist secret
method, he can mak bonnie blue birds’ eggs wi bleck spots on them, and
when ye pit ane o these in yer mooth, it gets smawer and smawer until
suddently there’s naethin left o it forby a tottie wee pink sugary birdie sittin
on the tip o yer tongue.’
Granda Jock paused and ran the tip o his ain tongue slawly ower his lips. ‘It
maks ma mooth watter jist thinkin aboot it,’ he said.
‘Mines, tae,’ said wee Chairlie. ‘But please cairry on wi the story.’
While they were talkin, Mr and Mrs Baffie, Chairlie’s faither and mither,
had cam quietly ben the room, and noo were baith staundin jist inside the
door, listenin.
‘Tell Chairlie aboot that Indian prince,’ said Grannie Jockina. ‘He’d like tae
hear aboot that.’
‘Ye mean Prince Pondicherry?’ said Granda Jock, and he sterted jooglin wi
lauchter.
‘Awa wi the fairies!’ said Granda Geordie.
‘Aye but pure mintit,’ said Grannie Geordietta.
‘Whit did he dae?’ spiered Chairlie. He couldnae wait tae find oot.
‘Weel, listen,’ said Granda Jock, ‘and I’ll tell ye.’

3

Mr Wonka and the Indian Prince

‘Prince Pondicherry scrievit a letter tae Mr Wullie Wonka,’ said Granda Jock,
‘and spiered him tae cam aw the wey oot tae India and bigg him a muckle
palace entirely oot o chocolate.’

‘Did Mr Wonka dae it, Granda?’
‘Dae it? Coorse he did it! And whit a palace it wis! It had a hunner rooms,
and awthin wis made o either daurk or licht chocolate! The bricks were
chocolate, and the cement haudin them thegither wis chocolate, and the
windaes were chocolate, and aw the waws and ceilins were made o chocolate,
sae were the cairpets and the picturs and the furnitur and the beds; and when
ye turnt on the spickets in the bathroom, hoat chocolate cam poorin oot o
them.
‘When it wis aw feenished, Mr Wonka said tae Prince Pondicherry, “I warn
ye, it winnae last verra lang, sae ye better scran it richt awa.”
‘“Dinnae be dippit!” raired the Prince. “I’m no eatin ma palace! I’m no
even gonnae sook the stairs or lick the waws! I’m gonnae bide in it!”
‘But, coorse, Mr Wonka wis richt because soon efter, there cam an awfie
hoat day wi a bilin sun, and the haill palace sterted tae melt, and then it sank
slawly intae the groond, and the prince, wha wis haein a wee sleep in the livin
room at the time, waukened tae find himsel sweemin aboot in a muckle clatty
broon loch o chocolate.’
Wee Chairlie sat awfie still on the edge o the bed, gawpin at his
grandfaither. Chairlie’s fizzog wis bricht, and his een were streetched sae
wide ye could see the whites aw roond them. ‘Is aw this really true?’ he
spiered. ‘Or are you jist haein me on?’
‘It’s true!’ yowled the fower auld folk aw at wance. ‘Coorse it’s true! Spier
onybody ye like!’

‘And I’ll tell ye somethin else that’s true,’ said Granda Jock, and noo he
leaned in closer tae Chairlie, and in a laich saft secret voice, he whuspered,
‘Naebody . . . ever . . . cams . . . oot!’

‘Oot o whaur?’ spiered Chairlie.
‘And . . . naebody . . . ever . . . gangs . . . in!’
‘Intae whaur?’ yowled Chairlie.
‘Wonka’s Works, o coorse!’
‘Granda, whit are ye talkin aboot?’
‘I’m talkin aboot warkers, Chairlie.’
‘Warkers?’
‘Aw factories,’ said Granda Jock,’ hae warkers gaun in and oot o the yetts
in the mornins and evenins – but no Wonka’s! Hae you ever seen a singil
sowel gaun intae that place – or comin oot?’
Wee Chairlie keeked slawly aroond at ilk ane o the fower auld fizzogs, yin
efter the ither, and they aw keeked back at him. They were freendly smilin
fizzogs, but they were gey serious and aw. There wis nae sign o jokin or
cairryin-on on ony o them.
‘’Weel? Huv ye?’ spiered Granda Jock.
‘I . . . I dinnae really ken, Granda,’ Chairlie said. ‘Whenever I gang past the
factory, the yetts aye seem tae be shut.’
‘Telt ye!’ said Granda Jock.
‘But there has tae be folk warkin there . . . ’
‘No folk, Chairlie. Nae ordinar folk onywey.’
‘Then wha?’ yowled Chairlie.
‘Ah-ha . . . That’s it, ye ken . . . Yon’s anither o Mr Wullie Wonka’s
clivvernesses.’
‘Chairlie, darlin,’ Mrs Baffie cawed oot fae whaur she wis staundin aside
the door, ‘it’s time ye were in yer bed. That’s enough for the nicht.’
‘But, Mither, I need tae hear . . . ’
‘The morn, ma darlin . . . ’
‘That’s richt,’ said Granda Jock, ‘I’ll tell ye mair the morn’s nicht.’

4

The Secret Warkers

The nixt nicht, Granda Jock cairried on wi his story.
‘Ye see, Chairlie,’ he said, ‘no sae lang syne there used tae be thoosands o

folk warkin in Mr Wullie Wonka’s factory. Then ane day, aw o a sudden, Mr
Wonka had tae spier ilka singil ane o them tae get oot, tae gang hame and tae
never cam back.

‘Hoo no?’
‘Because o spies.’
‘Spies?’
‘Aye. Aw the ither chocolate makars, ye see, were aw jealous o the
wunnerfu sweeties that Mr Wonka wis makkin, and they sterted sendin in
spies tae chore his secret recipes. The spies taen joabs in the Wonka factory,
pretendin they were ordinar warkers, and while they were there, ilk ane o
them foond oot exactly hoo a certain thing wis made.’
‘And did they gang back tae their ain factories and clype?’ spiered Chairlie.
‘They must hae,’ answered Granda Jock, ‘because soon efter that,
Mucklegubber’s factory sterted makkin an ice cream that wouldnae melt,
even in the bilin hoat sun. Then Mr Skelpneb’s factory cam oot wi a chawin-
gum that never lost its flavour nae maitter hoo mony times ye chawed it. And
then Mr Lugmince’s factory sterted makkin sugar balloons that ye could blaw
up tae eediotic sizes afore ye popped them and wolfed them doon. And sae
on, and sae on. And Mr Wullie Wonka rived his baird and shouted, ‘This is
awfie! I’ll go oot o business! There’s spies aw ower the place! I’ll hae tae shut
ma chocolate works!’
‘But he didnae dae it!’ Chairlie said.
‘Aye, he did. He telt aw the warkers that he wis sorry, but they wid hae tae
gang hame. Then he shut the main yetts and sneckit them wi a cheyne. And

suddently, Wonka’s giant chocolate works wis wheeshtit and deid. The lums
stapped warkin, the machines stapped birlin, and fae then on, no a singil
chocolate or sweetie wis made. No a sowel gaed in or oot, and even Mr
Wullie Wonka himsel disappeart awthegither.

‘Month efter month gaed by,’ Granda Jock cairried on, ‘but aye the factory
steyed shut. And awbody said, “Puir Mr Wonka. He wis sic a guid man. And
he made aw thae braw sweeties and chocolates and that. But he wis feenished
noo. It’s aw ower and done wi.”

‘Then somethin byordinar happened. Yin mornin, at peep o day, thin
columns o white reek were seen comin oot o the taps o the factory’s lums!
Folk in the toun stapped and gawped: “Whit’s gaun on?” they yowled.
“Somebody’s lichtit the furnaces! Mr Wonka must be openin up again!” They
ran tae the yetts, expectin them tae see them wide open and Mr Wonka
staundin there tae weelcome back aw his warkers.

‘But naw! The muckle airn yetts were aye sneckit shut wi as mony cheynes
wrappit roond them as ever, and Mr Wonka wis naewhaur tae be seen.

‘“But the factory is warkin!” the folk shouted. “Listen! Ye can hear the
machines! They’re aw birlin again! And ye can smell the guff o meltin
chocolate in the air!”

Granda Jock leaned forrit and pit a lang baney fingir on Chairlie’s knap,
and he said saftly, ‘But maist mysterious o aw, Chairlie, were the shaddas in
the windaes o the works. The folk staundin on the street ootside could see wee
daurk shaddas flittin aboot ahint the frostit gless windaes.’

‘Shaddas belangin whae?’ said Chairlie quickly.
‘Yon’s exactly whit awbody else wantit tae ken.’
‘“The place is fu o warkers!” the folk raired. “But naebody’s gane in! The
yetts are lockit! Does that no seem streenge tae you? And naebody ever cams
oot, either!”
‘But there wis nae question at aw,’ said Granda Jock, ‘that the factory wis
rinnin. And it’s gane on rinnin ever sin syne, for thir last ten year. And ken
whit else? The chocolates and sweeties it’s been turnin oot hae become better
and brawer aw the time. And, coorse, noo when Mr Wonka invents some
wunnerfu new sweetie, nane oot o Mr Mucklegubber or Mr Skelpneb or Mr
Lugmince or onybody else is able tae pauchle it. Nae spies can get intae the
works tae find oot hoo it’s made.’
‘But Granda, wha,’ yowled Chairlie, ‘wha is Mr Wonka usin tae dae aw the
darg in his chocolate works?’
‘Naebody kens, Chairlie.’
‘But that’s glaikit! Has naebody spiered Mr Wonka?’
‘Naebody sees him ony mair. He never cams oot. The ainly things that cam
oot o that place are chocolates and sweeties. They come oot through a special
trap door in the waw, aw packed in paircels, and the Post Office uplifts them
ilka day and taks them awa in trucks.’
‘But Granda, whit like are the folk that wark in there?’
‘Ma dear laddie,’ said Granda Jock, ‘that is ane o the great mysteries o the
chocolate-makkin warld. We ainly ken wan thing aboot them. They are wee.
Awfie wee. The faint shaddas that sometimes kythe ahint the windaes,
especially late at nicht when the lichts are on, belang tottie wee folk, folk nae
higher than ma hurdie . . . ’
‘Folk like that dinnae exist,’ Chairlie said.
Jist then, Mr Baffie, Chairlie’s faither, cam ben the room. He wis hame fae
the toothpaste factory, and he wis wavin an evenin newspaper raither excititly.
‘Huv ye heard the news?’ he cried. He held up the paper sae that they could
aw see the muckle heidline. The heidline said:

WONKA’S WORKS TAE

BE OPENED AT LANG LAST TAE

SOME AWFIE JAMMY FOLK

5

The Gowden Tickets

‘Ye mean folk are actually gaun tae be let intae the factory?’ yowled Granda
Jock. ‘Read oot whit it says – quick!’

‘Awricht,’ said Mr Baffie, smoothin oot the paper. ‘Listen.’

EVENIN BLETHER

Mr Wullie Wonka, the sweetie genius
that naebody has seen for the last ten year,

sent oot the follaein notice the day:

I, Wullie Wonka, hae decidit tae alloo five bairns - jist five, mind ye, and nae mair - tae
veesit ma factory this year. Thir lucky five will be shawn aroond by me personally, and
they will be allooed tae see aw the secrets and magic o ma factory. Then, efter the tour, as a
special giftie, aw o them will be gien enough chocolates and sweeties tae last them their
haill life! Sae watch oot for the Gowden Tickets! Five Gowden Tickets hae been prentit on
gowden paper, and thir five Gowden Tickets hae been hidden unnerneath the ordinar
wrappin paper o five ordinar bars o chocolate. Thir five chocolate bars could be onywhaur
- in ony shoap in ony toun in ony country in the warld - on ony coonter whaur Wonka’s
Sweets are selt. And the five lucky finders o thir five Gowden Tickets are the ainly wans
that will be allooed tae veesit ma factory and see whit it’s like inside the noo! Guid luck tae
aw o ye, and happy huntin. (Signed Wullie Wonka.)

‘The mannie’s dottled!’ snashed Grannie Jockina.
‘He’s brilliant!’ yowled Granda Jock. ‘He’s a magician! Jist imagine whit
will happen noo! The haill warld will be lookin for thae Gowden Tickets!
Awbody will be buyin Wonka’s chocolate bars in the hope o findin wan! He’ll
sell mair than ever afore! Och, it wid be amazin tae find wan!’
‘And aw the chocolate and sweeties that ye could scran for the lave o yer
life – free!’ said Granda Geordie. ‘Jist imagine that!’
‘They’d hae tae bring them in a muckle big truck!’ said Grannie Geordietta.
‘It maks me seik jist thinkin aboot it,’ said Grannie Jockina.

‘Mince!’ yowled Granda Jock. ‘Wid it no be somethin Chairlie, tae open a
bar o chocolate and see a Gowden Ticket glisterin inside?’

‘It maist certainly wid, Granda. But I’ve no got a hope o findin a ticket,’
Chairlie said wi a dowie look. ‘I ainly get wan bar a year.’

‘Ye never ken, darlin,’ said Grannie Geordietta. ‘It’s yer birthday nixt week.
Ye hae as muckle as chaunce as onybody else.’

‘That’s jist no true,’ said Granda Geordie. ‘The weans that are gonnae find
the Gowden Tickets are the anes wha can afford tae buy bars o chocolate ilka
day. Oor Chairlie ainly gets wan bar o chocolate wanced a year. He’s got nae
chaunce!’

6

The First Twa Finders

The verra nixt day, the first Gowden Ticket wis foond. The finder wis a laddie
cawed Augustus Gowp, and Mr Baffie’s evenin newspaper cairried a muckle
pictur o him on the front page. The pictur shawed a nine-year-auld laddie wha
wis sae muckle and fat he looked as if he’d be blawn up wi a pooerfu pump.
Muckle fozie faulds o fat ballooned oot o him fae ilka pairt o his boady, and
his fizzog wis like a muckle dough-baw wi twa wee greedy een squintin oot at
the warld. The toun whaur Augustus bade, the newspaper said, had gane daft
wi excitement aboot their hero. Flags were fleein fae aw the windaes, the
bairns had been giein a day aff the schuil, and they were haein a parade in
honour o the kenspeckle younker.

‘I jist kent Augustus wid find a Gowden Ticket,’ his mither had telt the
newspapermen. ‘He scrans sae mony bars o chocolate a day that it wis
awmaist impossible for him no tae find wan. Eatin is his hoabby, ye ken. That
is aw he is interestit in. But still, yon’s better than bein a heidbanger and
shootin at folk wi pop guns in his spare time. And whit I ayewis say is, he
widnae keep eatin like yon if he didnae need the nourishment, wid he? It’s aw
vitamins, onywey. Whit a thrill it will be for him tae veesit Mr Wonka’s
mervellous chocolate works! We’re jist as prood as onythin!’

‘Whit a honkin wummin,’ said Grannie Jockina.
‘And whit a mingin laddie, tae,’ said Grannie Geordietta.
‘Ainly fower Gowden Tickets left,’ said Granda Geordie. ‘I wunner wha’ll

get thaim.’
And noo the haill country, naw, the haill warld, wis suddently cairried awa

in a dementit chocolate-buyin splore, awbody gaun gyte searchin for the

treisured tickets. Wifies were seen mairchin intae sweetie shoaps and buyin
ten Wonka bars in a wanner, then rivin aff the wrappers on the spot and
keekin eidently inside for a glent o gowden paper. Bairns were takkin
hammers tae their piggy banks and rinnin oot tae the shoaps wi haunfus o
bawbees. In yin toun, a kenspeckle gangster chored a thoosand poonds oot o a
bank and spent the haill lot on Wonka bars that same efternoon. And when the
polis broke doon the door o his hoose tae lift him, they foond him sittin on the
flair amang moontains o chocolate, wheechin aff the wrappers wi the blade o
a dirk. In faur-awa Russia, a wummin cawed Charlotte Russe claimed she’d
foond the second ticket, but it turnt oot tae be a clivver fake. The kenspeckle
English scientist, Professor Feelheid, inventit a machine that wid tell ye at
wance, wioot openin the wrapper o a bar o chocolate, whither or no there wis
a Gowden Ticket hidden inside it. The machine had a mechanical airm that
shot oot wi dreidfu force and gruppit a haud o onythin that had the tottiest bit
o gowd inside it, and for a meenit, it looked like the answer tae awthin. But it
wisnae. While the Professor wis shawin aff the machine tae the public at the
sweetie coonter o a muckle depairtment store, the mechanical airm shot oot
and tried tae pou a gowd fillin oot o the mooth o a duchess that wis staundin
nearby. There wis a rammy, and the machine wis battert tae bits by the crood.

Suddently, on the day afore Chairlie Baffie’s birthday, the newspapers
annoonced that the second Gowden Ticket had been foond. The lucky person
wis a wee lassie cawed Veruca Saut wha steyed in a muckle toun faur awa wi
her pure mintit mither and faither. Yince again Mr Baffie’s evenin newspaper
cairried a pictur o the finder. She wis sittin atween her joco faither and mither
in the livin room o their hoose, wavin the Gowden Ticket abune her heid, and
grinnin fae lug tae lug.

Veruca’s faither, Mr Saut, had eidently explained tae the newspapermen
exactly hoo the ticket wis foond. ‘Ye see, boays,’ he had said, ‘as soon as ma
wee lassie telt me that she had tae huv wan o thae Gowden Tickets, I gaed oot
intae the toun and sterted buyin up aw the Wonka bars I could get ma hauns
on. I must hae bocht thoosands o them. Hunners o thoosands o them! Then I
had them loadit ontae trucks and brocht directly tae ma ain factory. I’m in the
peanut business, ye ken, and I hae aboot a hunner weemen warkin for me
ower at ma place, hoolin peanuts for roastin and sautin. That’s whit they dae
aw day lang, thae weemen, they sit there hoolin peanuts. Sae I says tae them,
“Awricht, quines,” I says, “fae noo on, ye can stap hoolin peanuts and stert
hoolin the wrappers aff o thir chocolate bars insteid!” And sae they did. I had
ilka warker in the place hoolin the paper aff o thae bars o chocolate fu speed
aheid fae mornin tae nicht.

‘But efter three days, we’d had nae luck. Och, it wis murder! Ma wee
Veruca got mair and mair crabbit ilka day, and ilka time I got hame she wid
skirl at me, “Whaur’s ma Gowden Ticket! I want ma Gowden Ticket!” And she
wid lie doon on the flair for oors and oors, kickin and yellochin in the maist

frichtnin wey. Weel, I jist hatit tae see ma wee lassie aw upset like that, sae I
swore I wid keep gaun wi the search until I’d got her whit she wantit. Then
suddently . . . on the evenin o the fourth day, ane o ma weemen warkers
yowled, “I’ve goat it! A Gowden Ticket!” And I said, “Gie me it noo!” and
she did, and I hurried hame and gied it tae ma darlin Veruca, and noo she’s aw
smiles, and we hae a happy hame yince mair.’

‘That ane’s even warse than the fat lad,’ said Grannie Jockina.
‘She needs her dowper skelped,’ said Grannie Geordietta.
‘I dinnae think whit the lassie’s faither did is verra fair, Granda, eh no?’
Chairlie said.
‘He spiles her,’ Granda Jock said. ‘And nae guid will ever cam fae spilin a
wean like that. Chairlie, you listen tae yer auld grandfaither.’
‘Cam tae bed, ma darlin,’ said Chairlie’s mither. ‘It’s yer birthday the
morra, dinnae forget. I’m bettin ye’ll be up gey early tae open yer present.’
‘A Wonka chocolate bar!’ yowled Chairlie. ‘It is a Wonka bar, eh, maw?’
‘Aye, ma darlin,’ his mither said. ‘Coorse it is.’
‘Och, wid it no be jist smashin if I foond the third Gowden Ticket inside
it?’ Chairlie cried.
‘Bring it in here when ye get it,’ Granda Jock said. ‘Then we can aw watch
ye takkin aff the wrapper.’

7

Chairlie’s Birthday

‘Happy birthday!’ yowled the fower auld grandparents, as Chairlie cam ben
intae their room early the nixt mornin.

Chairlie smiled nervously and sat doon on the edge o the bed. He wis
haudin his present, his ainly present, awfie carefu in his twa hauns.
WONKA’S MUCKLE MOOTH WATTERIN FUDGIE MALLAE DELICHT,
it said on the wrapper.

The fower auld folk, twa at either end o the bed, propped themsels up on
their pillaes and gawped wi anxious een at the bar o chocolate in Chairlie’s
hauns.

Mr and Mrs Baffie cam in and stood at the fit o the bed, watchin Chairlie.
The room wis aw wheeshtit. Awbody wis waitin noo on Chairlie tae stert
openin his present. Chairlie looked doon at the bar o chocolate. He run his
fingirs slawly ower the tap o it, awmaist cooryin in tae it, and the sheeny
paper wrapper made shairp wee reeshlin soonds in the wheeshtit room.
Then Mrs Baffie said saftly, ‘Ye cannae be disappointit, ma darlin, if ye
dinnae find whit ye’re lookin for ablow that wrapper. Ye really cannae expect
tae be as lucky as aw that.’
‘She’s richt,’ Mr Baffie said.
Chairlie didnae say onythin.
‘Efter aw,’ Grannie Jockina said, ‘in the haill wide warld there are ainly
three tickets left tae be foond.’
‘The thing tae mind,’ Grannie Geordietta said, ‘is that whitever happens,
ye’ll still hae a bar o chocolate.’
‘Wonka’s Muckle Mooth Watterin Fudgie Mallae Delicht!’ yowled Granda
Geordie. ‘It’s the best o them aw! Ye’ll jist love it!’
‘Aye,’ Chairlie whuspered. ‘I ken.’

‘Jist forget aw aboot thae Gowden Tickets and mak the maist o the
chocolate,’ Granda Jock said. ‘Why no dae that jist?’

They aw kent it wis eediotic tae expect this wan puir wee bar o chocolate
tae hae a magic ticket inside it, and they were tryin as gently and as couthily
as they could tae prepare Chairlie for the disappointment. But if there wis wan
ither thing the grown-ups kent as weel, it wis this: that nae maitter hoo wee
the chaunce micht be o findin a ticket, the chaunce wis there.

The chaunce hud tae be there.
This parteeclar bar o chocolate had as muckle chaunce as ony ither o haein
a Gowden Ticket.
And yon wis why aw the grandparents and parents in the room were jist as
skeich and up tae high doh as Chairlie wis, although they were pretendin no
tae be.
‘Ye’d better jist fire in and open it, or ye’ll be late for the schuil,’ Granda
Jock said.
‘Ye micht as weel get it ower wi,’ Granda Geordie said.
‘Gonnae open it, ma dear,’ Grannie Geordietta. ‘Please open it. I cannae tak
the waitin.’
Awfie slawly, Chairlie’s fingirs sterted tae rive open yin wee corner o the
wrappin paper.
The grandparents in the bed leaned forrit, cranin their baney auld craigies.

Then suddently, as though he couldnae thole ony mair suspense, Chairlie
rived the wrapper richt doon the middle . . . and on tae his lap . . . there
drapped oot . . . a licht broon creamy-coloured bar o chocolate.

There wis nae sign o a Gowden Ticket onywhaur.
‘Weel – that’s hit!’ said Granda Jock brichtly. ‘It’s whit we thocht.’
Chairlie keeked up. Fower sonsie auld faces were watchin him intently fae
the bed. He smiled at them, a dowie wee smile, and then shrugged his
shooders and picked up the chocolate bar and held it oot tae his mither, and
said, ‘Here, Mither, hae a bit. We’ll share it thegither. I want awbody tae hae a
taste.’
‘Naw, son!’ his mither said.
And aw the ithers cried oot, ‘Naw, naw! We widnae dream o it! It’s aw
yours!’
‘Please,’ wheedled Chairlie, turnin roond and offerin it tae Granda Jock.
But neither he nor onybody else wid tak even a tottie wee bit.
‘It’s time you were awa tae the schuil, ma darlin,’ Mrs Baffie said, pittin an
airm aroond Chairlie’s skinnymalinky shooders. ‘C’moan, or ye’ll be late.’

8

Twa Mair Gowden Tickets Foond

That nicht, Mr Baffie’s newspaper annoonced the findin o no ainly the third
Gowden Ticket, but the fourth as weel. TWA GOWDEN TICKETS FOOND
THE DAY, skraiched the heidlines. AINLY YIN MAIR LEFT.

‘Awricht,’ said Granda Jock, when the haill faimly wis gaithered in the auld
folks’ room efter their supper, ‘let’s hear wha’s foond them.’

‘The third ticket,’ read Mr Baffie, haudin his newspaper close up tae his
fizzog because his een were bad and he couldnae afford glesses, ‘the third
ticket wis foond by a Miss Violet Boakregarde. There wis muckle excitement
in the Boakregarde hoose when oor reporter arrived tae interview the lucky
young lassie – cameras were clickin and flashbulbs were flashin and folk
were elbain and jundyin and ettlin tae get a bit closer tae the kenspeckle
lassie. And the kenspeckle lassie wis staundin on a chair in the livin room
wavin the Gowden Ticket like daft as if she wis flaggin doon a taxi. She wis
talkin awfie fast and awfie lood tae awbody, but it wisnae easy tae hear aw
that she said because she wis chawin thrawnly on a muckle daud o chawin-
gum at the same time.

‘“I’m a chawin-gum chawer masel,” she shouted, “but when I heard aboot
thae ticket thingies o Mr Wonka’s, I gied up chawin chawin-gum and sterted
chawin chocolate in the hope o strikin it lucky. Noo, coorse, I’m back on
chawin-gum. I jist adore chawin-gum. I cannae dae wioot it. I chaw it aw day
lang and ainly tak it oot at mealtimes when I stick it ahint ma lug. Tae tell ye
the truth, I jist widnae feel guid if I didnae hae that wee swatch o chawin-gum
tae chaw on ilka meenit o ilka day o ilka month o ilka year, I ken I widnae.
Ma mither says it’s no poleet and it looks mingin tae see a lassie’s jaws gaun
up and doon the wey mine go up and doon aw the time, but I dinnae care. And
whae does she think she is giein me intae trouble, because, ken, if ye think
aboot it, when she’s tellin me aff her jaws are gaun up and doon a lot mair
than mines?”

‘“Noo, Violet,” Mrs Boakregarde said fae the faur neuk o the room whaur
she wis staundin on tap o the piano tryin no tae get trampelt intae the flair in
the rammy.

‘“Awricht, Mither, keep the heid, will ye!” Miss Boakregarde shouted.
“And noo,” she cairried on, turnin tae the reporters again, “it micht interest ye
tae ken that this daud o gum I’m chawin richt at this meenit is ane I’ve been
warkin on for ower three months noo. Yon’s a record. It’s beaten the record

held by ma best freend, Miss Cornelia Poashoxter. And she wis bealin! It’s ma
maist treisured possession noo, this daud o chawin-gum. At nicht, I jist steek
it on the end o ma bedpost, and it’s guid as ever in the mornins – a bittie teuch
at first, mibbe, but it soon saftens up again efter I’ve gien it a guid chaw.
Afore I sterted chawin for the warld record, I used tae chynge ma daud o
chawin-gum wance a day. I used tae dae it in oor lift on the wey hame fae the
schuil. Why in the lift? Because I liked stickin the clatty daud that I’d jist
feenished ontae yin o the control buttons, ken. Then the nixt person that cam
alang and pressed the button wid get ma auld chawin-gum on the end o his or
her fingir. Ya belter! And whit a stramash there wis, some o them screamin
and bawlin. Ye get the best results wi weemen that are wearin expensive
gloves. Och aye, I’m up tae high doh tae be gaun tae Mr Wonka’s chocolate
works. And I unnerstaun that efter he’s gonnae gie me enough chawin-gum
tae last me ma haill life. Ya beauty. Gaun masel!”’

‘Bowfin lassie,’ said Grannie Jockina.
‘Jist awfie!’ said Grannie Geordietta. ‘She’ll cam tae a clatty end wan day,
chawin aw that chawin-gum, you see if she doesnae.’
‘And wha got the fourth Gowden Ticket?’ Chairlie spiered.
‘Noo, let me see,’ said Mr Baffie, glowerin at the newspaper again. ‘Aye,
here it’s. The fourth Gowden Ticket,’ he read, ‘wis foond by a laddie cawed
Mike Teeveeheid.’
‘I’ll bet ye he’s anither numpty,’ muttered Grannie Jockina.
‘Dinnae interrupt, Grannie,’ said Mrs Baffie.
‘The Teeveeheid hoose,’ said Mr Baffie, cairryin on wi his readin, ‘wis
hotchin, like aw the ithers, wi excitit veesitors when oor reporter arrived, but
young Mike Teeveeheid, the lucky winner, didnae seem aw that pleased by
the haill business. “Can yous eejits no see I’m watchin television?” he said
crabbitly. “Ye’re pittin me aff ma programme. Gonnae wheesht!”

‘The nine-year-auld laddie wis seatit afore a muckle television set, wi his een
steekit tae the screen, and he wis watchin a film aboot gangsters shootin ither
gangsters wi machine guns. Mike Teeveeheid himsel had nae less than
eichteen toy pistols o different sizes hingin fae belts aroond his boady, and
ilka noo and then he wid lowp intae the air and fire aff hauf a dozen roonds
fae ane or anither o thir weapons.

‘”Wheesht!” he shouted, when somebody tried tae spier him a question.
“Did I no tell yous no tae gie me peace! This show’s a stotter! It’s magic! I
watch it ilka day. I watch them aw ilka day, even the rubbish wans, whaur
there’s nae shootin. I think gangsters are braw. They’re smashin! Especially
when they stert pumpin ither gangsters fu o leid and flashin the auld stilettos,
or batterin them wi knuckledusters! Jings, whit I widnae gie tae be daein that
masel! Yon’s the life, I’ll tell ye! It’s smashin!”’

‘That’s enough o yon!’ snippit Grannie Jockina. ‘I cannae thole that wee
nyaff!’

‘Nor me,’ said Grannie Geordietta. ‘Dae aw the bairns cairry on like that
nooadays – like thae brats we’ve been hearin aboot?’

‘O coorse no,’ said Mr Baffie, smilin at the auld wifie in the bed. ‘Some
dae. In fact, a loat o them dae. But no aw o them!’

‘And noo there’s ainly wan ticket left!’ said Granda Geordie.

‘Ye’re no wrang,’ sniffed Grannie Geordietta. ‘And jist as sure as I’ll be
haein kail soup tae ma supper the morn’s nicht, that ticket’ll gang tae some
scunnersome wee stumour that doesnae deserve it!’

9

Granda Jock Taks a Gamble

The nixt day, when Chairlie cam hame fae the schuil and gaed ben tae see his
grandparents, he foond that ainly Granda Jock wisnae asleep. The ither three
were aw snorin loodly.

‘Wheesht!’ whuspered Granda Joe, and he waved his haun at Chairlie for
him tae cam closer. The auld man gied Chairlie a sleekit grin, and then he
sterted guddlin aboot unner his pillae wi wan haun; and when the haun cam
oot again, there wis an auncient leather pooch gruppit in the fingirs. Unner
cover o the bedclaes, the auld man opened the pooch and cowped it upside
doon. Oot drapped a singil siller saxpence. ‘It’s ma secret treisure,’ he
whuspered. ‘The ithers dinnae ken I’ve got it. And noo, you and me are
gonnae hae yin mair shote at findin that last ticket. Whit dae ye think? But
ye’ll hae tae help me.’

‘Are ye sure ye want tae spend yer siller on that, Granda?’ Chairlie
whuspered.

‘Coorse I’m sure!’ splootered the auld man aw excitit. ‘Dinnae staund there
arguin! I’m as keen as you are tae find that ticket! Here – tak the siller and run
doon tae the nearest shoap and buy the first Wonka bar ye see and bring it
strecht back tae me, and we’ll open it thegither.’

Chairlie taen the wee siller coin, and slippit quickly oot o the room. In five
meenits, he wis back.

‘Huv ye got it?’ whuspered Granda Jock, his een sheenin wi excitement.
Chairlie noddit and held oot the bar o chocolate. WONKA’S NUTTY
CRUNCH SURPRISE, it said on the wrapper.
‘Guid!’ the auld man whuspered, sittin up in the bed and rubbin his hauns.
‘Noo – cam ower here and sit close tae me and we’ll open it thegither. Are ye
ready?’

‘Aye,’ Chairlie said. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Awricht. You tear aff the first bit.’
‘Naw,’ Chairlie said, ‘you peyed for it. You dae it.’
The auld man’s fingirs were tremmlin somethin awfie as they fummled wi
the wrapper. ‘We dinnae hae a hope, dae we?’ he whuspered, geeglin a bittie.
‘We hae absolutely nae chaunce, ye ken that, eh?’
‘Aye,’ Chairlie said. ‘I ken that.’
They looked at each ither, and then they baith sterted geeglin nervously.
‘Mind ye,’ said Granda Jock, ‘there is jist that tottie chaunce that it micht be
the wan.’
‘Aye, Granda,’ Chairlie said. ‘Why dae ye no open it, Granda?’
‘Aw in guid time, laddie, aw in guid time. Which end dae ye think I should
open first?’
‘That corner. That yin furthest awa fae ye. Jist tear aff a tottie bit, but no
enough for us tae see onythin.’
‘This wey?’ said the auld man.
‘Aye. Noo a wee bittie mair.’
‘You feenish it,’ said Granda Jock. ‘I’m ower nervous.’
‘Naw, Granda. Ye hae tae dae it yersel.’
‘Awricht then. I’ll dae it.’ He tore aff the wrapper.
They baith gawped at whit wis in ablow it. It wis a bar o chocolate –
naethin mair.
Aw at wance, they baith saw the funny side o the haill thing, and brust intae
hoots o lauchter.
‘Whit in the name o the wee man’s gaun on here!’ cried oot Grannie
Jockina, waukin up suddently.
‘Naethin,’ said Granda Joe. ‘Awa ye go back tae sleep.’

10

The Faimly Sterts tae Sterve

Ower the nixt twa weeks, the weather turnt gey cauld. First the snaw cam
doon. It sterted awfie suddently yin mornin jist as Chairlie Baffie wis pittin
his claes on tae gang tae the schuil. Staundin at the windae, he saw muckle
snawflakes fawin doon oot o an icy lift that wis the colour o tackety bitts.

By evenin, it wis fower fit deep aroond the wee hoosie, and Mr Baffie had
tae howk a path oot o the snaw fae the front door tae the road.

Efter the snaw, there cam a snell wund that blew for days and days wioot
stappin! And uyah, it wis cranreuch cauld! Awthin that Chairlie touched
seemed tae be made oot o ice, and ilka time he stepped ootside the door, the
wund wis like a dirk chibbin his cheek.

Ben the hoose, wee jets o freezin air cam skirlin through the sides o the
windaes and unner the doors, and there wis nae place tae hide fae them. The
fower auld yins lay silent and chitterin in their bed, tryin tae keep the cauld
oot o their banes. The excitement ower the Gowden Tickets wis aw lang syne
forgotten. Naebody in the faimly gied a button for onythin noo forby the twa
vital problems o tryin tae stey warm and tryin tae get enough tae eat.

There is somethin aboot awfie cauld weather that gies ye a muckle appetite.
Maist o us find oorselves stertin tae crave rich steamin stews and hoat aipple
pies and aw kinds o delicious warmin dishes; and because we are aw a guid
deal luckier than we ken, we usually get whit we want – or no faur aff it. But
Chairlie Baffie never got whit he wantit because his faimly couldnae afford it,
and as the cauld weather gaed on and on, he became raivelled and deleerit wi
hunger. Baith bars o chocolate, the birthday yin and the ane Granda Jock had
bocht, had lang syne been chittled awa, and aw he got noo were thae
peeliewally kail soups three times a day.

Then aw at wance, the soups got even mair peeliewally.

The reason for this wis that the toothpaste factory, the place whaur Mr
Baffie warked, suddently gaed oot o business and had tae close doon.
Quickly, Mr Baffie tried tae get anither joab. But he had nae luck. In the end,
the ainly wey he could earn a few bawbees wis by howkin the snaw aff the
streets. But it wisnae enough tae buy even a quarter o the scran for seeven
folk. Breakfast wis noo a singil slice o breid for ilka buddie, and denner wis
mibbe hauf a biled tattie.

Slawly but shairly, awbody in the hoose sterted tae sterve.
And ilka day, wee Chairlie Baffie, strampin through the snaw on his wey
tae the schuil, had tae gang by Mr Wullie Wonka’s factory. And ilka day, as he
cam near it, he wid lift his shairp wee neb intae the air and snowk that
wunnerfu sweet reek o meltin chocolate. Whiles, he wid staund still ootside
the yetts for a guid few meenits at a time, takkin deep swallaes o braith as if
he wis tryin tae scran the smell itsel.

‘That wean,’ said Granda Jock, pokin his heid up fae unner the blanket wan
icy mornin, ‘that wean has got tae hae mair food. It doesnae maitter aboot us.
We’re ower auld tae bother wi. But a growin laddie! He cannae cairry on like
this! He’s jist skin and banes!’

‘Whit can we dae?’ said Grannie Jockina meeserably. ‘He winnae tak ony o
oors. I hear his mither tried tae pauchle her ain piece o breid on tae his plate at
breakfast this mornin, but he widnae touch it. He made her tak it back.’

‘He’s a braw laddie,’ said Granda Geordie. ‘He doesnae deserve this.’
The snell weather shawed nae signs o liftin.
And ilka day, Chairlie Baffie grew mair and mair shilpit. His fizzog wis
peeliewally and poukit. The skin wis drawn sae ticht ower the cheeks that ye
could see the shape o the banes unnerneath. The faimly dooted he could cairry
on much langer like this wioot dangerously seik gettin.
And noo, awfie calmly, wi that unco wisdom that seems tae cam sae aften
tae bairns in times o hardship, he sterted tae mak wee chynges here and there
in some o the things he did, in order tae save his strength. In the mornins, he
left the hoose ten meenits earlier sae he could walk tae the schuil and widnae
hae tae rin. He sat quietly in the clessroom durin playtime, restin himsel,
while the ithers breenged ootside and flung snawbaws and warsled in the
snaw. Awthin he did noo, he cawed canny, sae he widnae wear himsel oot.
Then yin efternoon, walkin back hame wi the icy wund in his fizzog (and
by the wey, feelin mair hungert than he’d ever felt afore), his ee suddently
gliskit somethin siller lyin in the cundie in the snaw. Chairlie stepped aff the
cribbie and bent doon tae examine it. Pairt o it wis smoored by the snaw, but
he kent immediately whit it wis.
It wis a fifty-pence piece!
He quickly lookit roond.
Had somebody jist drapped it the noo?
Naw – that wisnae possible because o the wey pairt o it wis happit wi snaw.
A wheen folk gaed nashin past him on the pavement, their chins sunk deep
intae the collars o their jaikets, their feet crunchin in the snaw. Nane o them
wis lookin for ony siller; nane o them wis peyin the tottiest bit o attention tae
the wee laddie hunkered doon in the sheuch.
Then wis it his, this fifty pence?
Could he hae it?
Carefu, Chairlie poued it oot o the snaw. It wis weet and mawkit, but ither
than that, it wis perfect.
A HAILL fifty pence!
He held it ticht atween his chitterin fingirs, gawpin doon at it. It meant jist
wan thing tae him at that meenit, and ainly wan thing. It meant SCRAN.

Wioot thinkin, Chairlie turnt and sterted movin towards the nearest shoap. It
wis ainly ten paces awa . . . it wis a newspaper and stationery shoap, the kind
that sell jist aboot awthin, includin sweeties and cigars . . . and whit he wid
dae, he whuspered tae himsel . . . he wid buy wan mooth-watterin bar o
chocolate and eat it aw in a wanner, ilka bit o it, richt there and then . . . and
whit wis left o the siller he wid tak strecht back hame and gie it tae his mither.

11

The Miracle

Chairlie gaed ben the shoap and pit the drookit fifty pence on the coonter.
‘Yin Wonka’s Muckle Mooth Watterin Fudgie Mallae Delicht,’ he said,

mindin hoo muckle he had loved the ane he had on his birthday.
The mannie ahint the coonter looked fat and weel-fed. He had muckle lips

and fat cheeks and an awfie fat craigie. The fat aroond his craigie bulged oot
aw aroond the tap o his collar like a rubber ring. He turnt and raxed ahint him
for the chocolate bar, then turnt back again and haundit it tae Chairlie.
Chairlie grupped it and quickly tore aff the wrapper and taen an undeemous
bite. Then he taen anither . . . and anither . . . and och, the joy o bein able tae
stech muckle dauds o somethin sweet and solid intae his mooth! The sheer
pleisure o bein able tae stap yer mooth wi rich solid food!

‘Ye look like ye were needin that, laddie,’ said the shoapkeeper said in a
freendly wey.

Chairlie noddit, his mooth fu o chocolate.
The shoapkeeper pit Chairlie’s chynge on the coonter. ‘Caw canny,’ he said.
‘Ye’ll gie yersel a sair belly if ye swallae it like that wioot chawin.’
Chairlie cairried on scrannin the chocolate. He couldnae stap hissel. And in
less than a meenit, the haill thing had disappeart doon his thrapple. He wis oot
o braith, but he felt mervellously, byordinarily happy. He raxed oot a haun tae
tak the chynge. Then he stapped. His een were jist abune the level o the
coonter. They were glowerin at the siller bawbees lyin there. The bawbees
were aw five-penny bits. There were nine o them awthegither. Surely it
widnae maitter if he jist spent wan mair . . .
‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘I think . . . I’ll jist hae wan mair o thae chocolate
bars. The same ane as afore, please.’
‘Why no?’ the fat shoapkeeper said, raxin ahint him again and takkin

anither Muckle Mooth Watterin Fudgie Mallae Delicht fae the shelf. He pit it
doon on the coonter.

Chairlie picked it up and tore aff the wrapper . . . and suddently . . . fae
unnerneath the wrapper . . . there cam a brilliant flash o gowd.

Chairlie’s hert stood still.
‘It’s a Gowden Ticket!’ skraiched the shoapkeeper, lowpin aboot a fit intae
the air. ‘You’ve got a Gowden Ticket! Ye’ve foond a Gowden Ticket! Haw,
wid ye credit it? Cam and look at this, awbody! The bairn’s foond Wonka’s
last Gowden Ticket! There it’s! It’s richt there in his hauns!’
It seemed as if the shoapkeeper’s heid wis aboot tae explode. ‘In ma shoap,
tae!’ he yowled. ‘He foond it richt here in ma ain wee shoap! Somebody caw
the newspapers quick and let them ken! Watch oot noo, son! Dinna tear it
when ye tak it oot the wrapper! That thing’s warth its wecht in gowd! Whit
am I talkin aboot? It is gowd!’
In a wheen seconds, Chairlie foond himsel in the middle o a crood o aboot
twinty folk, aw hotchin and lowpin roond him, wi mony mair ootside tryin tae
elba their wey in fae the street. Awbody wantit tae get a keek at the Gowden
Ticket and at the lucky finder.
‘Whaur is it?’ somebody yowled. ‘Haud it up! We cannae see it.’
‘There it’s! There!’ somebody else shouted. ‘He’s got it in his hauns! See
the gowd! See hoo it sheens!’
‘Hoo did he manage tae find it? That’s whit I’d like tae ken!’ a muckle
laddie shouted crabbitly. ‘I’ve been on twinty bars a day for weeks and
weeks!’

‘Think o aw the free sweeties he’s gonnae get!’ anither laddie peenged. ‘A
haill lifetime’s supply!’

‘He’s gonnae need it. Look at him. He’s a richt wee skinnymalink!’ a lassie
said, lauchin.

Chairlie hadnae budged. He hadnae even unwrappit the Gowden Ticket fae
aroond the chocolate. He wis staundin verra still, haudin it ticht wi baith
hauns while the crood pushed and shouted at him richt in his lug. He felt
licht-heidit. There wis an unco floatin feelin comin ower him, as though he
wis floatin up intae the air like a balloon. His feet didnae seem tae be touchin
the groond at aw. He could hear his hert duntin awa loodly somewhaur in his
thrapple.

At that meenit, he felt a haun rest lichtly on his shooder, and when he
keekit up, he saw a tall mannie staundin ower him. ‘Listen’ said the mannie.
‘I’ll buy it aff ye. I’ll gie ye fifty poond. Whit dae ye think o that, eh? And I’ll
get ye a new bike and aw. Whit dae ye think?’

‘Are you gyte?’ shouted a wummin wha wis staundin aside him. ‘I’ll gie
him twa hunner poond for his ticket! Ye want tae sell yer ticket for twa
hunner poond, son?’

‘That’ll dae!’ the fat shoapkeeper shouted, pushin his wey through the
crood and takkin Chairlie by the airm. ‘Lea the laddie alane, will ye! Oot the
road! Let him oot!’ And tae Chairlie, as he led him tae the door, he
whuspered, ‘Dinnae you let onybody hae it! Tak it strecht hame, quick, afore
ye lose it! Rin aw the wey and dinnae stap until ye get there, ye unnerstaun?’

Chairlie noddit.
‘Ye ken whit?’ the fat shoapkeeper said, stappin a meenit and smilin at
Chairlie, ‘I hae a feelin ye were needin a bit o luck like this. I’m awfie gled ye
got it. Aw the best tae ye, sonny.’
‘Thank you,’ Chairlie said, and aff he gaed, rinnin through the snaw as fast
as his legs wid cairry him. And as he flew past Mr Wullie Wonka’s chocolate
works, he turnt and waved at it and sang oot, ‘I’ll be seein ye! I’ll be seein ye
soon!’ And efter five meenits he wis back at his hoose.

12

Whit It Said on the Gowden Ticket

Chairlie chairged in through the front door, shoutin, ‘Mither! Mither! Mither!’
Mrs Baffie wis in the auld grandparents’ room, giein them their evenin

soup.
‘Mither!’ yowled Chairlie, breengin in on them like a hurricane. ‘Look!

I’ve got it! Look, Mither, look! The last Gowden Ticket! It’s mines! I foond
some siller in the street and I bocht twa bars o chocolate and the second yin
had the Gowden Ticket and there were croods o people aw aroond me wantin
tae see it and the shoapkeeper rescued me and I ran aw the wey hame and
here I am! IT’S THE FIFTH GOWDEN TICKET, MITHER, AND I FOOND
IT!’

Mrs Baffie jist stood and gawped, while the fower auld grandparents, wha
were sittin up in bed balancin bools o soup on their knaps, aw drapped their
spunes wi a clatter and sat stane-still, framed against their white pillaes.

For aboot ten seconds there wis absolute wheesht. Naebody daured speak
or move. It wis a magic moment.

Then, awfie saftly, Granda Jock said, ‘Ye’re pouin oor legs, Chairlie, are ye
no? Ye’re haein us on!’

‘Naw, I’m no!’’ cried oot Chairlie, rinnin up tae the bed and haudin oot the
muckle bonnie Gowden Ticket for him tae see.

Granda Jock leaned forrit and taen a close look, his neb jist aboot touchin
the ticket. The ithers watched him, waitin tae hear whit he wid say.

Then awfie slawly, wi a gallus and mervellous grin spreidin aw ower his
fizzog, Granda Jock liftit his heid and looked strecht at Chairlie. The colour
wis rushin tae his cheeks, and his een were wide open, sheenin wi joy, and in
the centre o each een, richt in the verra centre, in the bleck pupil, a wee spairk
o wild excitement wis slawly dauncin. Then the auld man taen a deep braith,

and suddently, wi nae warnin at aw, an explosion seemed tae tak place inside
him. He flung his airms up in the air and yowled ‘Yippeeeeeee!’ And at the
same time, his lang baney boady riz up oot o the bed and his bool o soup gaed
fleein intae Grannie Jockina’s coupon, and in wan fantastic lowp, this auld
chiel o ninety-sax and a hauf, wha hadnae been oot o bed for the last twinty
year, jamp ontae the flair and sterted dauncin a jig o victory in his jammies.

‘Yippeeeeeeeeee!’ he shouted. ‘Three cheers for Chairlie! Hip, hip, hooray!’
Jist then, the door opened, and Mr Baffie walked intae the room. He wis