Chairlie and the chocolate works

cauld and wabbit, and he looked dune. Aw day lang, he had been howkin the
snaw aff the streets.

‘Jings!’ he cried oot. ‘Whit’s gaun on in here?’
It didnae tak them lang tae tell him whit had happened.
‘I dinnae believe it!’ he said. ‘It’s no possible.’
‘Shaw him the ticket, Chairlie!’ shouted Granda Jock, wha wis still dauncin
aroond the flair like a deil in his strippit jammie breeks and jaiket. ‘Shaw yer
faither the fifth and last Gowden Ticket in the warld!’
‘Let us see it, Chairlie,’ Mr Baffie said, cowpin intae a chair and haudin oot
his haun. Chairlie cam forrit wi the precious document.
It wis an awfie bonnie thing, this Gowden Ticket, haein been made, sae it
seemed, fae a sheet o pure gowd hammered oot awmaist tae the thinness o
paper. On wan side o it, prentit by some clivver method in jet-bleck letters,
wis the invitation itsel – fae Mr Wonka.
‘Read it oot,’ said Granda Jock, sclimmin back intae bed at last. ‘Let’s aw
hear exactly whit it says.’
Mr Baffie held the braw Gowden Ticket up close tae his een. His hauns
were shakkin, and he seemed puggled by the haill business. He taen a wheen
deep braiths. Then he cleared his thrapple, and said, ‘Awricht, I’ll read it.
Here’s whit’s on it:

‘Hellawrerr, you lucky finder o this Gowden Ticket. I’m cawed Mr Wullie Wonka! Gie’s yer
haun, ma trusty fiere! And here’s a warm weelcome fae me tae you! Ye’ll mibbe no believe it
but ye’ve got hunners o suprises waitin on ye, some pure brilliant things jist for you! I’m invitin
ye tae cam tae ma factory and be ma guest for wan haill day – you and aw the ithers that are
lucky enough tae find ma Gowden Tickets. I, Willy Wonka, will tak ye aroond the chocolate
works masel, shawin ye aw there is tae see, and efter, when it’s time tae gang, you will be
escortit hame by a procession o muckle trucks. Thae trucks, I promise ye, will be stappit fu wi
enough delicious scrannables tae last you and yer haill faimly for mony years. If, at ony time
efter that, ye’ve scranned the loat and rin oot o sweeties, ye jist need tae cam back tae the factory
and shaw this Gowden Ticket, and I will be gled tae stowe oot yer cupboard again wi whitever
ye want. This wey, you will be able tae keep yersel gaun wi tasty sneysters for the haill o yer
life. But this is naewhaur near the maist excitin thing that will happen on the day o yer veesit. I
am reddin up ither surprises that are even mair unco and mair wunnerfu for you and aw ma
beloved Gowden Ticket hauders – mysterious and mervellous surprises that will entrance,
delicht, beglamour, stumour and vex you ayont meisure. In yer radgest dreams you couldnae
imagine that sic things could happen tae you! Jist wait and see! And noo, here are yer
instructions: the day I hae chosen for the veesit is the first day in the month o Februar. On this
day, and on nae ither, you must cam tae the factory yetts in the mornin at ten o’clock shairp.
Dinnae be late! And you are allooed tae bring wi ye yin or twa memmers o yer ain faimly tae
look efter ye and tae mak sure that ye dinnae get up tae ony jookery-packery. Wan mair thing –
be certain tae hae this ticket wi you. If no, I’ll no let ye in.

(Signed) Wullie Wonka.’

‘The first day o Februar!’ cried oot Mrs Baffie. ‘But that’s the morra! The
day’s the last day o Januar. I ken it is!’

‘Jings!’ said Mr Baffie. ‘Ye’re richt!’
‘Ye’re jist in time then!’ shouted Granda Jock. ‘There’s no a meenit tae
lose. Ye’ll hae tae redd yersel up! Waash yer coupon, kaim yer hair, scrub yer
hauns, brush yer wallies, blaw yer neb, cut yer fingir nails, polish yer shuin,
iron yer sark, and in the name o the wee man, get aw that glaur aff yer breeks!
Ye hae tae get ready, ma boay! Ye hae tae get ready for the maist muckle day
o yer haill life!’
‘Noo dinnae get yersel in a fankle, Granda,’ Mrs Baffie said. ‘And dinnae
frichten puir Chairlie. We aw hae tae try and keep the heid. Noo the first thing
tae decide is this – wha’s gonnae go tae the factory wi Chairlie?’
‘I’m gaun!’ shouted Granda Jock, lowpin oot o his bed aince mair. ‘I’ll tak
him! I’ll look efter him! You lea it tae me!’
Mrs Baffie smiled at the auld mannie, then she turnt tae her guidman and
said, ‘Hoo aboot you, dear? Dae ye no think it wid better for you tae go?’
‘Weel . . . ’ Mr Baffie said, pausin tae think aboot it, ‘naw . . . I’m no sure I
should.’
‘But ye huv tae.’
‘There’s nae huv tae aboot it, ma dear,’ Mr Baffie said saftly. ‘Mind ye, I’d
love tae go. It’d be smashin. But on the ither haun . . . I believe the person that
really deserves tae go maist o aw is Granda Jock himsel. He seems tae ken
mair aboot it than we dae. As lang as he feels up tae it . . . ’
‘Yaaabeeaaautty!’ shouted Granda Jock, gruppin Chairlie by the hauns and
dauncin roond the room.

‘He certainly seems up tae it,’ Mrs Baffie said, lauchin. ‘Aye . . . mibbe ye’re
richt efter aw. Mibbe Granda Jock should be the ane tae go wi him. I certainly
cannae go masel and lea the ither three auld folk aw alane in their bed for a
haill day.’

‘Hallelujah!’ yowled Granda Jock. ‘Praise the Lord.’
Jist then, there cam a lood chap on the front door. Mr Baffie gaed tae open
it, and in twa seconds, hunners o newspapermen and photographers had
chairged intae the hoose. They had foond the finder o the fifth Gowden
Ticket, and noo they were aw yammerin for the haill story for the front pages
o the mornin papers. For oors, it wis a pure rammy in the wee hoose, and it
wis nearly midnicht afore Mr Baffie could fling them oot the last o them sae
Chairlie could get tae his bed.

13

The Muckle Big Day Arrives

The sun wis sheenin brichtly on the mornin o the Muckle Big Day when it
arrived, but the groond wis aye white wi snaw and the air wis snell and cauld.

Ootside the yetts o Wonka’s chocolate works, thoosands o folk had
gaithered tae watch the five lucky ticket hauders. The excitement wis no real.
It wis jist afore ten o’clock. The croods were pushin and shoutin, and a line o
polis had linkit airms and were tryin tae haud them back fae the yetts.

Richt aside the yetts, in a wee group bieldit fae the croods by even mair
polis, stood the five kenspeckle bairns, thegither wi the aulder folk that had
cam wi them.

The lang baney figure o Granda Jock could be seen staundin quietly amang
them, and aside him, haudin tichtly ontae his haun, wis wee Chairlie Baffie
himsel.

Aw the bairns, forby Chairlie, had baith their mithers and faithers wi them,
and it wis a guid thing and aw because the haill thing micht hae got aff on the
wrang fit. The ither bairns were sae fykie and fidgin tae get gaun that their
parents had tae pou them back by their airms and legs tae stap them fae
sclimmin ower the yetts. ‘Haud yer hoarses!’ the faithers raired oot. ‘Calm
doon, will ye? It’s no time yet! It’s no ten o’clock!’

Ahint him, Chairlie Baffie could hear the shouts o folk in the crood as they
jundied and focht tae get a glisk at the kenspeckle weans.

‘There’s Violet Boakregarde!’ he heard somebody shoutin. ‘That’s her
awricht! I saw her coupon in the newspapers!’

‘And ye ken whit?’ somebody else shouted back. ‘She’s aye chawin that
honkin auld daud o chawin-gum she’s had in her mooth for three months!
Look at her jaws, will ye! They’re still champin awa at it!’

‘Wha’s the big fat lad?’
‘Yon’s Augustus Gowp!’
‘Sae it is!’
‘He’s a muckle big sumph, is he no?’
‘Ye’re tellin me!
‘Wha’s the wean wi a pictur o the Lane Ranger plaistered aw ower his
jaiket?’
‘Yon’s Mike Teeveeheid! He’s the yin that’s television daft!’
‘He must be doitit! Look at aw thae toy pistols he’s got hingin aff his belt!’
‘The ane I want tae see is Veruca Saut!’ shouted anither voice in the crood.
‘She’s the lassie whase faither bocht up hauf a million chocolate bars and
made aw the warkers in his peanut works unwrap ilka ane o them until they
foond a Gowden Ticket! He gies her onythin she wants! Absolutely onythin!
Aw she’s got tae dae is stert skirlin and he gies her it!’
‘Dreidfu.’
‘Shoackin.’
‘Which ane dae ye think she is?’
‘That yin! Ower there on the left! The wee lassie in the siller mink coat!’
‘Which wan’s Chairlie Baffie?’

‘Chairlie Baffie? He must be that wee skinnymalinky drochle staundin
aside the auld fella that looks like a hauf-deid skeleton. Jist there. See him?’

‘Hoo’s he no wearin a jaiket in this cauld weather?’
‘Dinnae ken. He probably cannae afford ane.’
‘Whit? He must be freezin!’
Chairlie, staundin ainly a wheen paces awa fae the speaker, gied Granda
Jock’s haun a squeeze, and the auld man looked doon at Chairlie and smiled.
Somewhaur in the distance, a kirk nock sterted chappin the oor o ten.
Awfie slawly, wi a lood skraichin o rustit hinges, the muckle airn yetts o the
chocolate works sterted tae sweeng open.
The crood wheeshtit. The bairns stapped booncin aboot. Aw een glowered
at the factory yetts.
‘There he is!’ somebody shouted. ‘That’s the mannie!’
And sae it wis.

14

Mr Wullie Wonka

Mr Wonka wis staundin aw his lane jist inside the open yetts o the chocolate
works.

And whit a byordinar wee man he wis!
He had a bleck lum hat on his heid.
He wore a tail coat made o a bonnie ploom-coloured velvet.
His breeks were bottle green.
His gloves were pearly grey.
And in yin haun he cairried a braw gowd-tappit walkin stick.
On his chin, there wis a wee, trig, pointit bleck baird – a goatee. And his
een – his een were maist mervellously bricht. They seemed tae be spairklin
and skinklin at ye aw the time. In fact, his haill fizzog wis alowe wi fun and
lauchter.
And och, hoo clivver he looked! Hoo gleg and shairp and fu o life! He wis
aye makkin quick joukie wee movements wi his heid, cockin it this wey and
that, and takkin awthin in wi thae bricht skinklin een. He wis like a squirrel in
the glegness o his movements, like a quick clivver auld squirrel ye whiles see
at the park.
Suddently, he did a funny wee skippin daunce in the snaw, and he spreid
his airms wide, and he smiled at the five bairns that were gaithered near the
yetts, and he cawed oot, ‘Weelcome, ma wee freends! Weelcome tae the
chocolate works!’
He had a high sing-sangie voice. ‘Will ye step forrit yin at a time, please,’
he cawed oot, ‘and bring yer parents? Then shaw me yer Gowden Ticket and
gie me yer name. Wha’s first?’
The muckle fat lad stepped up. ‘I’m Augustus Gowp,’ he said.
‘Augustus!’ cried Mr Wonka, gruppin his haun and pumpin it up and doon

wi an awfie force. ‘Ma dear boay, hoo guid tae see ye! Delichted! Chairmed!
Cannae tell ye whit it means tae hae ye wi us! And thir guid folk here are yer
parents? Hoo nice! Come awa ben! That’s richt! Step through the yetts!’

Mr Wonka wis clearly jist as deleerit as awbody else.
‘Ma name,’ said the nixt bairn tae gang forrit, ‘is Veruca Saut.’
‘Ma dear Veruca! Hoo’s it gaun? Whit a pleisure this is! You dae hae an
interestin name, don’t ye? I ayewis thocht a veruca wis a sort o bile ye got on
yer fit! But I must be wrang! Hoo bonnie ye look in that braw mink coat! I’m
sae gled ye could come! Help ma boab, this is gonnae be sic an excitin day! I
dae hope ye enjoy it! I’m sure ye will! I ken ye will! This is yer faither? Hoo
ye daein, Mr Saut? And Mrs Saut? Delichted tae see ye! Aye, yer ticket’s in
guid order! Please gang in!’

The nixt twa bairns, Violet Boakregarde and Mike Teeveeheid, cam forrit tae
hae their tickets inspectit and then tae hae their airms jist aboot shook aff their
shooders by the birkie Mr Wonka.

And last o aw, a sma nervous voice whuspered, ‘Chairlie Baffie.’
‘Chairlie!’ cried oot Mr Wonka. ‘Weel, weel, weel! Sae there ye are!
You’re the ane that foond yer ticket jist yesterday, are ye no? Aye, aye! I read
aw aboot ye in this mornin’s papers! Jist in time, ma dear boay! I’m sae gled!
Sae happy for ye! And this? Yer grandfaither? Delichted tae meet ye, sir!
Cannae believe it! Beglamoured! Dumfoonert! Awricht! Braw! Is awbody in
noo? Five bairns? Aye! Guid! Noo will ye please follae me! Oor tour is aboot
tae stert! But mind and keep thegither! Please dinnae dauner aff by yersels! I
widnae like tae lose ony o ye at this stage o the proceedins! Och, help ma kilt,
that wid be awfie!’
Chairlie keeked back ower his shooder and saw the muckle airn entrance
yetts slawly shuttin ahint him. The croods on the ootside were aye greetin and
yellyhooin. Chairlie taen a last look at them. Then, as the yetts closed wi a
clang, aw sicht o the ootside warld disappeart.
‘Here we are!’ cried oot Mr Wonka, jinkin alang in front o the group.
‘Through this muckle reid door, please! That’s richt! It’s braw and warm
inside! I hae tae keep it warm in the factory because o the warkers! Ma
warkers are used tae an awfie hoat climate! They cannae thole the cauld!
They’d dee if they gaed ootside in this weather! They’d freeze tae daith!’
‘But wha are yer warkers?’ spiered Augustus Gowp.
‘Aw in guid time, ma dear boay!’ said Mr Wonka, smilin at Augustus. ‘Be
patient! You will see awthin as we gang! Are aw o ye inside? Guid! Wid ye
mind shuttin the door? Thank ye!’
Chairlie Baffie foond himsel staundin in a lang loabby that streetched awa
in front o him as faur as he could see. The loabby wis sae braid that a caur
could hae easy driven doon it. The waws were peeliewally pink, the lichtin
wis saft and pleasant.
‘Hoo braw and warm!’ whuspered Chairlie.
‘I ken. And whit a mervellous reek!’ answered Granda Jock, takkin a lang
deep whuff. Aw the maist wunnerfu smells in the warld seemed tae be melled
up in the air aroond them – the reek o roastin coffee and brunt sugar and
meltin chocolate and mint and violets and crushed hazelnits and aipple
blossom and caramel and lemon peel . . .
And far awa in the distance, fae the hert o the muckle factory, cam a
muffled rair o energy as though the wheels o some monstrous gigantic
machine were birlin roond at brekneck speed.
‘Noo this, ma dear bairns,’ said Mr Wonka, shoutin ower the noise, ‘this is

the main loabby. Will you please hing yer jaikets and bunnets on thae pegs
ower there, and then follae me? That’s the wey! Guid! Awbody ready?
C’moan, then! Here we gang!’ He skelped aff rapidly doon the loabby wi the
tails o his ploom-coloured velvet coat flappin ahint him, and the veesitors aw
hurried efter him.

It wis fair size pairty o folk, when ye cam tae think o it. There were nine
grown-ups and five bairns, fowerteen in aw. Sae ye can imagine that there wis
a fair bit o pushin and pouin as they nashed doon the loabby, tryin tae keep up
wi the gleg wee craitur in front o them. ‘C’moan!’ cried oot Mr Wonka.
‘Dinnae hing aboot, will ye, please! We’ll never get roond the day if ye cairry
on like this!’

Soon, he turnt richt aff the main loabby intae anither slichtly mair nairra
loabby.

Then he turnt left.
Then left again.
Then richt.
Then left.
Then richt.
Then richt.
Then left.
The place wis like a gigantic rabbit bourie, wi passages leadin this wey and
the ither tae aw the airts.
‘Dinnae you let go o ma haun, Chairlie,’ whuspered Granda Jock.
‘Ken hoo aw thir passages are sklentin doon the wey?’ cawed oot Mr
Wonka. ‘It’s because we are noo gaun unnergroond! Aw the maist important
rooms in the chocolate works are doon ablow the surface!’
‘Whit for?’ somebody spiered.
‘There widnae onywhaur near enough space for them up on tap!’ answered
Mr Wonka. ‘Thir rooms we are gaun tae see are undeemous! They’re bigger
than fitba pitches! Nae biggin in the warld wid be muckle enough tae hoose
them! But doon here, ablow the grund, I’ve got aw the space I want. There’s
nae limit – sae lang as I can howk it and hollow it oot.’
Mr Wonka turnt richt.
He turnt left.
He turnt richt again.
The passages were sklentin steyer and steyer doon the brae noo.
Then suddently, Mr Wonka stapped. In front o him, there wis a sheeny

metal door. The pairty croodit roond. On the door, in muckle letters, it said:

THE CHOCOLATE CHAUMER

15

The Chocolate Chaumer

‘An important room, this yin!’ cried oot Mr Wonka, takkin a bunch o keys fae
his poacket and slippin yin o them intae the keyhole o the door. ‘This is the
nerve centre o the haill factory, the hert o the haill business! And it’s sae
bonnie! I insist that aw ma rooms are bonnie! I cannae thole hackitness in
factories! Ben we go, then! But please caw canny, ma dear bairns! Dinnae get
ower-excitit! Stey calm! Keep the heid!’

Mr Wonka opened the door. Five bairns and nine grown-ups elbaed their
wey in – and och, whit an unco sicht it wis that noo met their een!

They were lookin doon on a bonnie glen. There were green meedows on
baith sides o the glen, and alang the bottom o it there flowed a muckle broon
river.

Mair than that, there wis a tremendous watterfaw haufwey alang the river –
a stey cleuch ower which the watter drapped and poored in a solid sheet, and
then gaed crashin doon intae a bilin, birlin whirlpool o faem and spindrift.

Ablow the watterfaw (and this wis the maist braithtakkin sicht o aw), a haill
mass o undeemous lang gless pipes wis hingin doon intae the river fae

somewhaur awa up in the ceilin! They really were lang, thae pipes. There
must hae been aboot a dizzen o them, at least, and they were sookin up the
broonish dubbie watter fae the river and cairryin it awa tae naebody could tell
whaur. And because they were made o gless, ye could see the liquid flowin
and bubblin alang inside o them, and abune the rair o the watterfaw, ye could
hear the aye-gaun sook-sook-sookin soond o the pipes as they did their darg.

Gracefu trees and bushes were growin alang the riverbanks – greetin sauchs
and erns and croods o tall rhododendrons wi their pink and reid and mauve
blossoms. The meedows were filled wi thoosands o yella gowans.

‘There it’s!’ cried oot Mr Wonka, dauncin up and doon and pointin his
gowd-tappit walkin stick at the muckle broon river. ‘It’s aw chocolate! Ilka
drap o that river is hoat meltit chocolate o the finest quality. The verra finest
quality. There’s enough chocolate in there tae fill aw the bathtubs in the haill
country! And aw the sweemin pools as weel! Is that no braw? And jist look at
ma pipes! They sook up the chocolate and cairry it awa tae aw the ither rooms
in the factory whaur it’s needit! Thoosands o gallons an oor, dear weans!
Thoosands and thoosands o gallons!’

The bairns and their parents were ower puggled tae speak. They were
stachered. There were dumfoonert. They were bumbazed and dottled. They
were completely booled ower by the muckleness o the haill thing. Aw they
could dae wis staund there and gawp.

‘The watterfaw is maist important!’ Mr Wonka cairried on. ‘It mixter-
maxters the chocolate! It kirns it up! It poonds it and skelps it! It maks it licht
and frothy! Nae ither works in the warld mixter-maxters its chocolate by
watterfaw! But it’s the ainly wey tae dae it richt! The ainly wey! And dae ye
like ma trees?’ he cried, pointin wi his stick. ‘And ma braw bushes? Dae ye
no think they look bonnie? I telt ye I hate hackitness! And o coorse they are
aw scrannable! Aw made o somethin different and delicious! And dae ye like
ma meedows? Dae ye like ma gress and ma yella gowans? The gress ye’re
staundin on, ma dear wee yins, is made o a new kind o saft, minty sugar that
I’ve jist inventit! I caw it swudge! Gaun, tak a swatch o swudge! Tak a blade!
It tastes pure brilliant!’

Wioot thinkin, awbody bent doon and picked yin blade o gress – awbody
forby Augustus Gowp wha taen a muckle haunfu.

And Violet Boakregarde, afore tastin her blade o gress, spat the daud o
warld-record-cowpin chawin-gum oot o her mooth intae her haun and papped
the gum ahint her lug.

‘Is it no jist wunnerfu!’ whuspered Chairlie. ‘It’s got the maist wunnerfu
taste, Granda?’

‘I could eat the haill field!’ said Granda Jock, grinnin wi delicht. ‘I could
gang roond on aw fowers and chow ilka blade o gress in the field like a coo!’

‘Hae a yella gowan!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘They’re even mair smervie.’
Suddently, the air wis filled wi skirls o excitement. The skraichs cam fae
Veruca Saut. She wis aw kittled up and pointin tae the ither side o the river.
‘Look! Look ower there!’ she skraiched. ‘Whit is it? He’s movin! He’s
walkin! It’s a wee buddie! It’s a wee mannie! Doon there ablow the
watterfaw!’
Awbody stapped pickin the yella gowans and glowered across the river.
‘She’s richt, Granda!’ cried Chairlie. ‘It is a wee man! Dae ye see him?’
‘I see him, Chairlie!’ said Granda Jock, aw excitit.
And noo awbody sterted shoutin at wance.
‘There’s twa o them!’
‘Help ma boab, sae there is!’
‘There’s mair than twa! There’s ane, twa, three, fower, five!’
‘Whit are they daein?’
‘Whaur dae they come fae?’
‘Wha are they?’
Aw the bairns and parents rushed doon tae the edge o the river tae tak a
closer look.

‘Are they no smashin?’

‘Nae higher than ma hurdie!’
‘Look at their funny lang hair!’
The tottie men – they were nae bigger than medium-sized dollies – had
stapped whit they were daein, and were noo gawpin back across the river at
the veesitors. Ane o them pointit towards the bairns, and then he whuspered
somethin tae the ither fower, and aw five o them brust oot lauchin.
‘But they cannae be real folk,’ Chairlie said.
‘Coorse they’re real folk,’ Mr Wonka answered. ‘They’re Heedrum-
Hodrums.’

16

The Heedrum-Hodrums

‘Heedrum-Hodrums!’ awbody said at wance. ‘Heedrum-Hodrums!’
‘Importit direct fae Heedrum-Hodrumland,’ said Mr Wonka proodly.
‘There’s nae such place,’ said Mrs Saut.
‘Excuse me, ma dear wummin, but . . . ’
‘Mr Wonka,’ cried Mrs Saut. ‘I’m a dominie o geography . . . ’
‘Then you’ll ken aw aboot it,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘And och, whit an awfie

country it is! Naethin but thick jungles infestit wi the maist dangerous
beasties in the warld – heidswedgers and sairfangers and thae awfie sleekit
thrangdookers. A thrangdooker wid hae ten o thae Heedrum-Hodrums tae
their breakfast and cam gallopin back for a second helpin. When I wis oot
there, I foond the wee Heedrum-Hodrums bidin in tree hooses. They had tae
bide in tree hooses tae escape fae the thrangdookers and the heidswedgers and
the sairfangers. And they were livin on green hairy-oobits, and the hairy-
oobits tastit honkin, and the Heedrum-Hodrums spent ilka meenit o their days
sclimmin through the treetaps lookin for ither things tae mash up wi the hairy-
oobits tae mak them taste better – reid clockers, for instance, and eucalyptus
leaves, and the bark o the bowff-bowff tree, aw o them mingin, but no jist as
honkin as the hairy-oobits. Puir wee Heedrum-Hodrums! The yin scran they
wantit mair than ony ither wis the cacao bean. But they couldnae get it. A
Heedrum-Hodrum wis lucky if he foond three or fower cacao beans a year.
But och, hoo they craved them. They used tae dream aboot cacao beans aw
nicht and talk aboot them aw day. Ye ainly had tae say the word “cacao” tae a
Heedrum-Hodrum and he wid stert dreeblin and slaverin at the mooth. The
cacao bean,’ Mr Wonka cairried on, ‘that grows on the cacao tree, happens tae
be the verra thing fae which aw chocolate is made. Ye cannae mak chocolate
wioot the cacao bean. The cacao bean is chocolate. I masel use billions o

cacao beans ilka week in this factory. And sae, dearest bairnies, as soon as I
discovered that the Heedrum-Hodrums were hauf-dementit for this parteeclar
food, I sclimmed up tae their tree hoose village and poked ma heid in through
the door o the tree hoose belangin the heidbummer o the tribe. The puir wee
chiel, lookin skinnymalinky and sterved, wis sittin there tryin tae scran a
boolfu o mashed-up green hairy-oobits wioot boakin. “Noo listen,” I said
(speakin no in Scots, ken, but in Heedrum-Hodrumish), “listen noo, if you
and aw yer freends will cam back tae ma country and bide in ma chocolate
works, ye can hae aw the cacao beans ye want! I’ve got moontains o them in
ma storehooses! Ye can hae boak yersels silly on them! I’ll even pey ye yer
wages in cacao beans if ye wish!”

“Ye’re haein me on?” spiered the Heedrum-Hodrum heidbummer, lowpin up
fae his chair.

‘“Coorse I’m no haein ye on!” I said. “And ye can hae chocolate and aw.
Chocolate tastes even mair braw than cacao beans because it’s got milk and
sugar in it as weel.”

‘The wee mannie gied a lood hooch o joy and flung his bool o chappit
hairy-oobits oot o the windae. “We’ll dae it!” he cried oot. “C’moan, the
Heedrum-Hodrums! We are shootin the craw!”

‘Sae I shipped them aw ower tae ma factory, ilka man, wummin and wean
in the Heedrum-Hodrum clan. It wis nae bother. I pauchled them ower in

muckle packin-cases wi holes in them, and they aw won ower here safe and
soond. They are wunnerfu warkers. They aw speak guid Scots noo. They love
dauncin and music. They are ayewis makkin up sangs. I expect ye’ll hear
them singin the day fae time tae time. I hae tae warn ye though, they’re
gallus. They like tellin jokes. And they still wear the same kind o claes they
wore in the jungle. I couldnae talk them oot o it. The men, as ye can see for
yersels across the river, wear ainly deerskins. The wimmin and the bairns
dinnae wear ony claes at aw. The wimmin pit on fresh leaves ilka day . . . ’

‘Daddy!’ shouted Veruca Saut (the lassie that aye got whitever she wantit).
‘Daddy! I want a Heedrum-Hodrum! I want you tae get me a Heedrum-
Hodrum richt awa! I want tae tak it hame wi me! Aw, Daddy! Git us a
Heedrum-Hodrum, wull ye!’

‘Haud on a wee meenit, ma darlin!’ her faither said tae her, ‘we shouldnae
interrupt Mr Wonka.’

‘I want a Heedrum-Hodrum noo!’ skraiched Veruca.
‘Awricht, Veruca, awricht. But I cannae get it for ye at this verra meenit.
Please hing on. I’ll mak sure ye hae yin afore the end o the day.’
‘Augustus!’ shouted Mrs Gowp. ‘Augustus, sweethert, I dinnae think ye
should be daein that.’ Augustus Gowp, as mibbe ye’ve awready guessed, had
hoddled doon tae the edge o the river, and he wis noo kneelin on the
riverbank, scoofin hoat meltit chocolate intae his mooth as fast as he could.

17

Augustus Gowp Gangs Up the Pipe

When Mr Wonka turnt roond and saw whit Augustus Gowp wis daein, he
cried oot, ‘Naw! Please, Augustus, please! I’m beggin ye, dinnae dae that!
Ma chocolate shouldnae be touched by human haun!’

‘Augustus!’ cawed oot Mrs Gowp. ‘Did ye no hear whit the mannie said?
Come awa fae that river richt noo!’

‘This stuff’s pure magic!’ said Augustus, dingyin his maw and Mr Wonka.
‘Jings, I’m needin a bucket sae I can poor mair o it intae ma mooth at wance!’

‘Augustus,’ cried Mr Wonka, jinkin up and doon and waggin his stick in
the air, ‘you huv tae come oot o there! Ye’re makkin ma chocolate mawkit!’

‘Augustus!’ cried Mrs Gowp.
‘Augustus!’ cried Mr Gowp.
But Augustus wis deef tae awthin apairt fae the caw o his muckle belly. He
wis noo lyin his haill length on the groond wi his heid hingin far oot ower the
river, lappin up the chocolate like a dementit dug.
‘Augustus!’ shouted Mrs Gowp. ‘Ye’ve got a cauld. Ye’ll gie millions o
folk the smit!’
‘Watch yersel, Augustus!’ shouted Mr Gowp. ‘Ye’re leanin ower far oot!’
Mr Gowp wis richt. For suddently there wis a lood skirl, and then a muckle
splatch, and intae the river gaed Augustus Gowp, and in wan second he had
disappeart unner the broon surface.
‘Save him!’ skraiched Mrs Gowp, gaun white in the fizzog, and birlin her
umberellae aboot. ‘He’ll droon! He cannae sweem a stroke! Save him! Save
him!’
‘Awa ye go, wummin!’ said Mr Gowp. ‘I’m no lowpin in there! Me wi the
guid suit on, tae!’
Augustus Gowp’s coupon cam up again tae the surface, slaistered broon wi

chocolate. ‘Help! Help! Help!’ he yowled. ‘Fish me oot!’

‘Dinnae jist staund there!’ Mrs Gowp skraiched at Mr Gowp. ‘Dae somethin!’
‘I am daein somethin!’ said Mr Gowp, wha wis noo takkin aff his jaiket and

gettin redd up tae lowp intae the chocolate. But while he wis daein this, the
puir laddie wis gettin sooked closer and closer towards the mooth o yin o thae
muckle lang pipes hingin doon intae the river. Then aw at aince, the pooerfu
sook took haud o him completely, and he wis poued unner the surface and
then up intae the mooth o the pipe.

The crood on the riverbank waitit braithlessly tae see whaur he wid cam
oot.

‘There he gangs!’ somebody shouted, pointin up the wey.
And richt enough, because the pipe wis made o gless, Augustus Gowp
could be clearly seen wheechin up inside o it, heid first, like a torpedo.
‘Help! Murder polis!’ skraiched Mrs Gowp. ‘Augustus, come back here at
wance! Whaur are ye gaun?’
‘It’s a miracle,’ said Mr Gowp, ‘hoo that pipe’s big enough for him tae fit
intae it.’
‘It isnae big enough!’ said Chairlie Baffie. ‘Och naw, look! He’s slawin
doon!’
‘Sae he is!’ said Granda Jock.
‘He’s gonnae get stuck!’ said Chairlie.
‘There’s nae doot aboot it!’ said Granda Jock.
‘Jings, he is stuck!’ said Chairlie.
‘It’s his belly. It’s ower muckle!’ said Mr Gowp.
‘He’s blocked the haill pipe!’ said Granda Jock.
‘Brek open yon pipe!’ yowled Mrs Gowp, still wavin her umberellae.

‘Augustus, come oot o there at wance!’
The watchers ablow could see the chocolate skooshin aroond the boay in

the pipe, and they could see it buildin up ahint him in a solid mass, pushin
against his bahookie. The pressure wis awfie. Somethin had tae gie. Somethin
did gie. And the somethin that gied wis Augustus. WHEECH! Up he shot like
a bullit in the barrel o a gun.

‘He’s awa!’ yowled Mrs Gowp. ‘Whaur does that pipe gang? Quick! Caw
the fire brigade oot!’

‘Stey calm!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘Stey calm, ma dear wummin, stey calm.
There is nae danger! Nae danger at aw! Augustus is awa on a wee journey,
that’s aw. A maist interestin journey. But he’ll come oot o it jist fine. Hing on
and ye’ll see.’

‘Hoo can he possibly come oot o it jist fine?’ snippit Mrs Gowp. ‘He’ll be
turnt intae a muckle big marshmallae in aboot five seconds!’

‘Naw he willnae!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘Whit a scunnersome glaikit eediotic
idea! He could never be made intae a marshmallae!’

‘Hoo could he no?’ shouted Mrs Gowp.
‘Because that pipe doesnae go onywhaur near ony marshmallaes! That pipe
– the yin Augustus has jist wheeched up – happens tae gang strecht tae the
room whaur I mak a maist delicious kind o strawberry-flavoured chocolate-
coatit fudge . . . ’
‘Then he’s gonnae get turnt intae strawberry-flavoured chocolate-coatit
fudge!’ skraiched Mrs Gowp. ‘Ma puir Augustus! They’ll be sellin him by the
poond aw ower the country the morn’s morn!’
‘Ye’re richt,’ said Mr Gowp.
‘I ken I’m richt,’ said Mrs Gowp.
‘This isnae funny,’ said Mr Gowp.
‘Weel, Mr Wonka seems tae think it is!’ cried Mrs Gowp. ‘Jist look at him!
He’s lauchin his heid aff! Hoo daur ye lauch yer heid aff when ma laddie’s jist
gane up the pipe! Ya bampot!’ she skraiched, pointin her umberellae at Mr
Wonka as if she wis gonnae chib him wi it. ‘Whit are ye lauchin at? You think
ma laddie gettin sooked up intae yer blessed Fudge Chaumer is jist a muckle
big joke, don’t ye?’
‘He’ll come tae nae herm,’ said Mr Wonka, geeglin.
‘He’ll turn intae a chocolate fudge!’ skraiched Mrs Gowp.
‘Awa!’ cried Mr Wonka.
‘Coorse he will!’ skraiched Mrs Gowp.

‘I widnae let it happen!’ cried Mr Wonka.
‘Why no?’ skraiched Mrs Gowp.
‘Because it wid taste pure mingin,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Can ye imagine it?
Augustus-flavoured chocolate-coatit Gowp! Naebody’d buy it.’
‘Whit dae ye mean naebody wid buy it?’ cried Mr Gowp, aw indignant.
‘Coorse they wid buy it!’
‘I dinnae want tae think aboot it!’ skraiched Mrs Gowp.’
‘Me and aw,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘But I dae promise ye, madam, that yer darlin
laddie is perfectly safe and weel.’
‘If he’s perfectly safe and weel, then whaur is he?’ sabbed Mrs Gowp. ‘Tak
me tae him richt this verra meenit!’
Mr Wonka turnt roond and snappit his fingirs shairply, snap, snap, snap,
three times. Strecht awa, a Heedrum-Hodrum appeart, as if fae naewhaur, and
stood aside him.
The Heedrum-Hodrum boued and smiled, shawin bonnie white wallies. His
skin wis rosy-white, his lang hair wis gowden-broon, and the tap o his heid
wis jist aboot the hicht o Mr Wonka’s hurdie. He wore the usual deerskin
slung ower his shooder.

‘Noo listen tae me!’ said Mr Wonka, lookin doon at the tottie wee man. ‘I
want you tae tak Mr and Mrs Gowp up tae the Fudge Chaumer and help them
tae find their son, Augustus. He’s jist gane up the pipe.’

The Heedrum-Hodrum taen wan look at Mrs Gowp and brust intae hoots o
lauchter.

‘Och, wheesht you, will ye!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Control yersel! Pou yersel
thegither! Mrs Gowp doesnae think it’s funny at aw!’

‘Ye can say that again!’ said Mrs Gowp.
‘Gang strecht tae the Fudge Chaumer,’ Mr Wonka said tae the Heedrum-
Hodrum, ‘and when ye get there, tak a lang stick and hae a poke aboot inside
the muckle chocolate-mixin barrel. I doot ye’ll find him in there. But ye better
look shairp! Ye’ll hae tae hurry! If ye lea him in the chocolate-mixin barrel
ower lang, he’ll likely get poored oot intae the fudge biler, and that really wid
be a disaster, wid it no? Ma fudge wid be totally unscrannable!’
Mrs Gowp let oot a skraich. She wis pure bealin.
‘I’m haein ye on,’ said Mr Wonka, geeglin ahint his baird. ‘I didnae mean

it. Forgie me. I’m sae sorry. Guid-bye, Mrs Gowp! And Mr Gowp! Guid-bye!
We’ll see ye efter . . . ’

As Mr and Mrs Gowp and their peerie escort hurried awa, the five
Heedrum-Hodrums on the ither side o the river suddently sterted lowpin and
dauncin aboot and duntin like deils on tottie wee drums. ‘Augustus Gowp!’
they chantit. ‘Augustus Gowp! Augustus Gowp! Augustus Gowp!’

‘Granda!’ cried Chairlie. ‘Listen tae them, Granda! Whit are they daein?’
‘Wheesht!’ whuspered Granda Jock. ‘I think they’re gonnae gie us sang!’

‘Heedrum-Hodrum, och aye the noo!
We’ve got a wee bit sang noo for you!
Augustus Gowp! Augustus Gowp!
Boay wi the big fat muckle dowp! . . . .
Hoo lang could we let this roond baw
Slaver and slabber, champ and chaw
On ilka thing he wantit tae?
Och naw, nae fear. It widnae dae!
We ken this greedy ten ton boay
Will never gie an oonce o joy
Tae onybody on this irth,
Nae fun, nae happiness, nae mirth.
Sae whit we dae tae bairns like yon
Is gie their lives a helpin haun
And tak this young Humpty Dumpty
And transform the muckle numpty
Tae somethin that gies joy tae aw -
A dolly mibbe or a baw,
Toys tae fill a bairn’s playpen.
But this pysenous lad, ye ken,
Wis aye sae completely mingin,
Barkit, fool, and awfie clingin,

He left a maist honksome taste
Inside oor mooths, and sae in haste,
We chose whit wid be best for aw
Tae tak yon nasty taste awa.
“C’moan!” we cried. “The time is ripe
Tae send him skitin up the pipe!
He has tae gang! It has tae be!”
And awfie soon, he’s gonnae see
Inside the room whaur he’s been sent
Some unco things as yet unkent.
But dinnae, dearest weans, be fashed;
Augustus Gowp will no get smashed,
Although no hurt, there is nae doot
He’ll mibbe get turnt inside oot.
He’ll be gey chynged fae whit he’s been
Gaun heid first through a fudge machine:
The wheels gang slawly roond and roond,
The cogs then stert tae grind and poond,
A hunner knives gang slice, slice, slice;
And in gangs sugar, cream and spice;
We’ll bile him for a meenit mair,
Until we’re absolutely shair
That aw the greed and aw the blaw
Is biled awa for wance and aw.
Then oot he cams! And noo, by jings,
The maist miraculous o things!
This laddie wha it’s fair tae say
Wis loathed by aw fae heid tae tae,
This bealin plook, this honkin gowk,

Is loved by nearly aw the fowk!

For wha could hate or haud a grudge

Against a muckle daud o fudge?’

‘I telt ye they loved makkin up sangs!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘Are they no jist
braw? Are they no jist chairmin? But ye cannae believe a word o whit they
say. It’s aw haivers, ilka bit o it!’

‘Are the Heedrum-Hodrums really jist jokin, Granda?’ spiered Chairlie.
‘Coorse they’re jist jokin,’ answered Granda Joe. ‘They hae tae be. At least,
I hope they’re jokin.’

18

Doon the Chocolate River

‘Aff we go!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘Hurry up, awbody! Follae me tae the nixt
room! And please dinnae worry aboot Augustus Gowp. He’s boond tae come
oot in the waash. They ayewis dae. We’ll hae tae mak the nixt pairt o the
journey by boat! Here she cams! Look!’

A steamy haar wis risin up noo fae the muckle chocolate river, and oot o
the haar there suddently appeart a maist fantoosh pink boatie. It wis a muckle
open row boat wi a tall front and a tall back (like a Viking langship fae the
days o auld lang syne), and it had sic a sheenin spairklin glisterin pink colour
that the haill thing looked as though it wis made o bricht pink gless. There
were mony oars doon either side o it, and as the boat cam closer, the watchers
on the riverbank could see that the oars were bein poued by aboot a hunner o
Heedrum-Hodrums – at least ten o them cawin on ilka oar.

‘This is ma private yacht!’ cried Mr Wonka, beamin wi pleisure. ‘I made
her by howkin oot the inside o a massive biled sweetie! Is she bonnie or whit?
See hoo she sneds through the waves!’

The glentin pink biled-sweetie boatie glided up tae the riverbank. A hunner
Heedrum-Hodrums restit on their oars and gawped up at the veesitors. Then
suddently, for some reason best kent tae themsels, they aw brust oot intae
hoots o lauchter.

‘Whit’s sae funny?’ spiered Violet Boakregarde.
‘Och, dinnae worry aboot them!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘They’re aye lauchin at
somethin! They think awthin’s a muckle joke! Lowp intae the boat, aw o ye!
C’moan! Aw aboard!’
As soon as awbody wis safely in, the Heedrum-Hodrums pushed the boat
awa fae the bank and sterted tae rowe smertly doonriver.
‘Haw, there! Mike Teeveeheid!’ shouted Mr Wonka. ‘Please dinnae lick the

boat wi yer tongue! Ye’ll mak it aw sticky!’
‘Da,’ said Veruca Saut, ‘I want a boatie like this! I want ye tae buy me a

muckle pink biled-sweetie boatie exactly like Mr Wonka’s! And I want
hunners o Heedrum-Hodrums tae rowe me aboot, and I want a chocolate river
and I want . . . I want . . . ’

‘She wants a guid kick up the bahookie,’ whuspered Granda Jock tae Chairlie.

The auld man wis sittin in the back o the boat and wee Chairlie Baffie wis
richt aside him. Chairlie wis haudin ticht tae his grandfaither’s baney auld
haun. His heid wis birlin wi awthin he had seen sae faur–the muckle
chocolate river, the watterfaw, the lang sookin pipes, the minty sugar
meedows, the Heedrum-Hodrums, the bonnie pink boatie, and maist o aw, Mr
Wullie Wonka himsel – had been sae dumfoonerin that he sterted tae wunner
whither there could possibly be ony mair dumfoonerment left. Whaur were
they gaun noo? Whit were they gaun tae see? And whit in the warld wis gaun
tae happen in the nixt room?

‘Is it no jist mervellous?’ said Granda Jock, grinnin at Chairlie.
Chairlie noddit and smiled up at the auld man.
Suddently, Mr Wonka, wha wis sittin on Chairlie’s ither side, raxed doon
intae the bottom o the boat, picked up a muckle mug, dooked it intae the river,
filled it wi chocolate, and haundit it tae Chairlie. ‘Drink this,’ he said. ‘It’ll
dae ye guid! Ye look sterved tae daith!’
Then Mr Wonka filled a second mug and gied it tae Granda Jock. ‘You and
aw,’ he said. ‘Ye’re jist skin and banes! Whit’s wrang? Huv ye no been eatin?
Is there nae food in yer hoose?’
‘No really,’ said Granda Jock.
Chairlie pit the mug tae his lips, and as the rich warm creamy chocolate ran
doon his thrapple intae his toom belly, his haill boady fae heid tae taes sterted
tae kittle wi pleisure, and a feelin o pure happiness spreid ower him.
‘Ye like it?’ spiered Mr Wonka.
‘Och, it’s wunnerfu!’ Chairlie said.
‘The creamiest brawest chocolate I’ve ever tastit!’ said Granda Jock,
smackin his lips.
‘That’s because it’s been mixter-maxtered by watterfaw,’ Mr Wonka telt
him.
The boat sped on doon the river. The river wis mair nairra gettin. There wis
some kind o daurk tunnel aheid – a muckle roond tunnel that looked like an
undeemous pipe – and the river wis rinnin richt intae the tunnel. And sae wis
the boat! ‘Rowe on!’ shouted Mr Wonka, lowpin up and wavin his stick in
their air. ‘Fu speed aheid!’ And wi the Heedrum-Hodrums rowin faster than
ever, the boat shot intae the pitmirk tunnel, and aw the passengers skraiched
wi excitement.
‘Hoo can they see whaur they’re gaun?’ skirled Violet Boakregarde in the
daurkness.

‘It’s unknawn whaur they’re gaun!’ raired Mr Wonka, hootin wi lauchter.

‘There’s nae earthly wey o sayin

Whit direction they are gaein!

Or whit on earth they’re daein

Or whit gemme they’re even playin!

As the chocolate waves are sprayin

And nae idea whaur they’re strayin

And nae earthly wey o sayin

Whit direction they are gaein,

Aw the folk on board are prayin . . . ’

‘He’s gane aff his heid!’ shouted ane o the faithers, shoacked, and the ither
parents jined in the chorus o frichtened rairin and greetin. ‘He’s gyte!’ they
yowled.

‘He’s doitit!’
‘He’s deleerit!’
‘Dippit!’
‘Dottled!’
‘Capernoited!’
‘Wuid!’
‘Puggled!’
‘He’s awa wi it!’
‘Dementit!’
‘Radge!’
‘He’s no wice!’
‘He’s daft!’
‘Naw, he isnae!’ said Granda Jock.
‘Pit on the lichts!’ shouted Mr Wonka. And suddently on cam the lichts and
the haill tunnel wis filled wi brilliant licht, and Chairlie could see richt
enough that they were inside a gigantic pipe, and the muckle waws curvin up
the wey were pure white and clartlessly clean. The river o chocolate wis
flowin awfie fast inside the pipe, and the Heedrum-Hodrums were rowin like
mad, and the boat wis hurlin alang at a skelpin pace. Mr Wonka wis lowpin
up and doon in the back o the boat and cawin tae the rowers tae rowe aye
faster and faster. He seemed tae love the sensation o wheechin through a

white tunnel in a pink boat on a chocolate river, and he clapped his hauns
thegither and lauched and keepit gliskin at his passengers tae see if they were
haein as guid a time as him.

‘Look, Granda!’ cried Chairlie. ‘There’s a door in the waw!’ It wis a green
door and it wis set intae the waw o the tunnel jist abune the level o the river.
As they wheeched past it there wis jist enough time tae read whit wis scrievit
on the door: STOREROOM NUMMER 54, it said. AW THE CREAMS -
DAIRY CREAM, WHIPPIT CREAM, COFFEE CREAM, PINEAIPPLE
CREAM, VANILLA CREAM AND HAIR CREAM.

‘Hair cream?’ cried Mike Teeveeheid. ‘Ye dinnae use hair cream, dae ye?’
‘Keep rowin!’ shouted Mr Wonka. ‘There’s nae time for glaikit questions!’
They birled past a bleck door. STOREROOM NUMMER 71, it said on it.
WHIPS - AW SHAPES AND SIZES.
‘Whips!’ cried Veruca Saut. ‘Whit in the name o the wee man dae ye use
whips for?’
‘For whippin cream, o coorse,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Hoo can ye whip cream
wioot whips? Whippit cream isnae whippit at aw unless it’s been whippit wi
whips. Jist as a poached egg isnae a poached egg unless it’s been chored fae
the widds in the deid o nicht by poachers! Rowe on, please!’
They passed a yella door on which it said: STOREROOM NUMMER 77 -
AW THE BEANS, CACAO BEANS, COFFEE BEANS, JEELIE BEANS,
AND HAS BEENS.
‘Has beens?’ cried Violet Boakregarde.
‘You should ken whit they are! You’re wan o them!’ said Mr Wonka.
‘There’s nae time for argle-barglin! Haud gaun, haud gaun!’ But five seconds
later, when a bricht reid door cam intae sicht aheid, he suddently waved his
gowd-tappit walkin stick in the air and shouted, ‘Stap the boat!’

19

The Inventin Chaumer – Never-Stap
Gubstappers and Hairy Gundy

When Mr Wonka raired ‘Stap the boat!’ the Heedrum-Hodrums dooked their
oars intae the watter and rowed widdershins wi aw their micht. The boat
stapped.

The Heedrum-Hodrums steered the boat alangside the reid door. On the
door it said, INVENTIN CHAUMER - PRIVATE - KEEP OOT. Mr Wonka
taen a key fae his poacket, leaned ower the side o the boat, and pit the key in
the lock.

‘This is the maist important room in the haill chocolate works!’ he said.
‘Aw ma maist secret spang-new inventions are cookin and bilin awa in here!
Auld Mucklegubber wid gie his twa front teeth tae be allooed in here for jist
three meenits! Sae wid Skelpneb and Lugmince and aw the ither sleekit
chocolate makars! But noo, listen tae me! I want nae muckin aboot when ye
gang in here! Nae scutterin, nae footerin, nae plaisterin, nae plooterin and nae
tastin! Is awbody agreed?’

‘Aye, aye!’ the bairns cried. ‘We winnae touch a thing!’
‘Up tae noo,’ Mr Wonka said, ‘naebody else, no even a Heedrum-Hodrum,
has ever been allooed in here!’ He opened the door and stepped oot o the boat
intae the chaumer. The fower bairns and their parents aw scrammled efter
him.
‘Mind, dinnae touch onythin!’ shouted Mr Wonka. ‘And dinnae cowp
onythin ower either!’
Chairlie Baffie glowered aroond the gigantic room whaur he noo foond
himsel. The place wis like a carline’s kitchen! Aw aboot him bleck metal
poats were bilin and bubblin on muckle stoves, and kettles were hishin and
pans were sizzlin, and unco airn machines were clankin and splooterin, and

there were pipes rinnin aw ower the ceilin and waws, and the haill place wis
fu o reek and steam and wunnerfu rich smells.

Mr Wonka himsel had suddently become even mair excitit than usual, and
onybody could see that this wis the room he loved best o aw. He wis lowpin
aboot amang the poats and pans and the machines like a wean wi his presents
at Yule, no kennin which thing tae look at first. He liftit the lid fae a muckle
poat and taen a guff at it; then he birled ower and dooked a fingir intae a
barrel o clatty yella stuff and had a taste at that; then he jinkit across tae ane o
the machines and turnt hauf a dizzen knobs this wey and the ither; then he
keeked worrit-like through the gless door o a gigantic oven, rubbin his hauns
and kecklin wi delicht at whit he saw inside. Then he rin ower tae anither
machine, a sma sheeny affair that wis aye gaun phut-phut-phut-phut-phut, and
ilka time it gaed phut, a muckle green bool drapped oot o it intae a creel on
the flair. At least it looked like a bool.

‘Never-Stap Gubstappers!’ cried Mr Wonka proodly. ‘They’re brand-skelpin
new! I am inventin them for bairns that haurdly get ony poacket money. Ye
can pit a Never-Stap Gubstapper in yer mou and ye can sook it and sook it

and sook it and sook it and it will never get ony smawer!’
‘It’s jist like chawin-gum!’ cried Violet Boakregarde.
‘It’s naethin like chawin-gum!’ Mr Wonka said. ‘Chawin-gum is for

chawin, and if ye tried chawin ane o these Gubstappers here ye’d brek yer
teeth in hauf! And they never get ony smawer! They never dwyne awa!
NEVER! At least I dinnae think they dae. There’s ane o them gettin testit at
this verra meenit in the Testin Chaumer nixt door. A Heedrum-Hodrum is
sookin it. He’s been sookin it for vernear a haill year noo wioot stappin, and
it’s still jist as guid as ever!’

‘Noo, ower here,’ Mr Wonka cairried on, skitin excititly across the room
tae the opposite waw, ‘ower here I am inventin a completely spang-new line o
gundy!’ He stapped aside a muckle saucepan. The pan wis fu o a clatty gooey
purpie traicle, bilin and bubblin. By staundin on his taes, wee Chairlie could
jist aboot see inside it.

‘That’s Hairy Gundy!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘Ye can eat jist wan tottie bit o
that, and in exactly hauf an oor a brent-new braw thick bonnie crop o hair will
stert growin aw ower the tap o yer heid! And a moustache! And a baird!’

‘A baird!’ cried Veruca Saut. ‘Wha wants a baird, for peety’s sake?’
‘You’d look braw in wan,’ said Mr Wonka, ‘but unfortunately the mixter-
maxter isnae jist richt yet. I’ve made it ower strang. It works tae weel. I tried
it on a Heedrum-Hodrum yestreen in the Testin Chaumer and strecht awa a
muckle bleck baird sterted shootin oot o his chin, and the baird grew sae fast
that soon it wis trailin aw ower the flair in a thick hairy cairpet. It wis growin
faster than we could cut it! In the end we had tae tak the lawn mower tae it jist
tae keep it doon! But I’ll get the mixter-maxter richt soon! And when I dae,
there’ll be nae excuse for ony mair wee laddies and lassies gaun aboot wi
baldie heids!’
‘But Mr Wonka,’ said Mike Teeveeheid, ‘maist wee laddies and lassies
dinnae go aboot wi . . . ’
‘Dinnae argue, dear wean, please dinnae argue!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘It’s jist a
waste o precious time! Noo, ower here, if ye will aw step this wey, I will
shaw ye somethin that I am awfie prood o. Och, and please caw canny! See
and dinnae cowp onythin ower! Staund back!’

20

The Graund Gum Machine

Mr Wonka led the pairty ower tae a gigantic machine that stood richt in the
middle o the Inventin Chaumer. It wis a moontain o glentin metal that touered
high abune the bairns and their parents. Oot o verra tap o it there sprootit
hunners and hunners o thin gless tubes, and the gless tubes aw curled doon the
wey and cam thegither in a hiddle, and hingit suspendit ower a muckle roond
metal bine the size o a bath.

‘Here we gang,’ cried Mr Wonka, and he pressed three different buttons on
the side o the machine. A second efter, a michty rummlin soond cam fae
inside it, and the haill machine sterted tae shak in a maist frichtsome wey, and
steam sterted poorin oot o it aw ower the place, and then suddently the
watchers noticed that slitterie stuff wis skitterin doon the insides o aw thae
hunners o wee gless tubes and skooshin oot intae the muckle roond bine
ablow. And in ilka singil tube the slitterie stuff wis a different colour, sae it
wis like a bonnie colourfu watergaw comin skooshin and slaisterin intae the
big bine tub. It wis a braw sicht. And when the bine wis nearly fu, Mr Wonka
pressed anither button, and immediately the slitterie stuff disappeart, and a
whudderin soond taen its place; and then a giant wheecher sterted wheechin
roond inside the muckle bine, jummlin up aw the different coloured liquids
like an ice-cream sodae. Gradually, the mixter-maxter sterted tae faem up. It
got faemier and faemier, and it turnt fae blue tae white tae green tae broon tae
yella, then back tae blue again.

‘Watch!’ said Mr Wonka.
Click gaed the machine, and the wheecher stapped wheechin. And noo
there cam a sort o sookin soond, and awfie quickly aw the blue faemy mixter-
maxter in the muckle bine wis sooked back intae the belly o the machine. For
a meenit, awthin gaed wheesht. Then a wheen unco rummles wis heard. Then

wheesht again. Then suddently, the machine let oot a monstrous awmichty
boak, and at the same second, a tottie drawer (nae bigger than the drawer in a
slot machine) popped oot o the side o the machine, and in the drawer there lay
somethin sae wee and thin and grey that awbody thocht that somethin must
hae gane wrang. The thing looked like a wee daud o grey cairdboard.

The bairns and their parents glowered at the wee grey thing lyin in the
drawer.

‘Ye mean that’s aw?’ said Mike Teeveeheid, scunnered.
‘That’s aw,’ answered Mr Wonka, keekin proodly at the result. ‘Dae ye ken
whit it is?’
There wis a wee pause. Then suddently, Violet Boakregarde, the glaikit
chawin-gum chawin lassie, let oot a yowl o excitement. ‘Ya beauty! It’s
chuddie!’ she skraiched. ‘It’s a stick o chuddie!’

‘You are richt!’ cried Mr Wonka, duntin Violet hard on the back. ‘It’s a stick o
chawin-gum! It’s a stick o the maist smashin and mervellous and fantoosh

chawin-gum in the haill warld!’

21

Cheerio Violet

‘This chawin-gum,’ Mr Wonka cairried on, ‘is ma latest, ma greatest, ma
maist brilliant invention! It’s a meal made oot chawin-gum! It’s . . . it’s . . .
it’s . . . that tottie daud o chawin-gum lyin there is a haill three-coorse denner
aw by itsel!’

‘Whit a load o auld haivers!’ said wan o the faithers.
‘Ma dear sir!’ said Mr Wonka, ‘when I stert sellin this chawin-gum in the
shoaps it will chynge awthin! It will be the end o aw kitchens and aw cookin!
Naebody will ever need tae go the messages ever again! Or buy ony mair
meat or ither scran! There’ll be nae mair knives and forks tae pit oot on the
table! Nae plates! Nae clarty dishes! Nae rubbish! Nae middens! Jist a wee
skliff o Wonka’s magic chawin-gum – and that’s aw ye’ll ever need tae yer
breakfast, denner and tea! This daud o chawin-gum I’ve jist made happens tae
be tomatae soup, roast beef, and blueberry pie, but ye can hae jist aboot
awthin ye want!’
‘Whit dae ye mean, it’s tomatae soup, roast beef, and blueberry pie?’ said
Violet Boakregarde.
‘If ye were tae stert chawin it,’ said Mr Wonka, ‘then yon is exactly whit ye
wid get on the menu. It’s absolutely mervellous! Ye can actually feel the food
gaun doon yer thrapple and intae yer belly! And ye can taste it and aw! And it
fills ye up! It staps ye fu! It’s jist braw!’
‘It’s cannae be true,’ said Veruca Saut.
‘Jist as lang as it’s chawin-gum,’ shouted Violet Boakregarde, ‘jist as lang
as it’s chawin-gum and I can chaw it, then yon’s for me!’ And quickly she taen
her ain warld-record daud o chawin-gum oot o her mooth and stuck it ahint
her left lug. ‘C’moan, Mr Wonka,’ she said, ‘haund ower this magic chawin-
gum o yours and we’ll see if the thing warks or no.’

‘Noo, Violet,’ said her mither, Mrs Boakregarde. ‘Please dinnae dae
onythin daft.’

‘I want the chawin-gum!’ Violet said crabbitly. ‘Whit’s sae daft aboot that?’
‘I wid raither ye didnae tak it,’ Mr Wonka telt her gently. ‘Ye see, I huvnae
got it jist richt. There’s still ane or twa things . . . ’
‘Och, jist gie’s it, will ye!’ said Violet, and suddently, afore Mr Wonka
could stap her, she shot oot a fat haun and taen the daud o chawin-gum oot o
the wee drawer and papped it intae her mooth. At wance, her muckle, weel-
trained jaws sterted chawin awa on it like a dug wi a bane chored oot a
butcher’s shoap.
‘Dinnae!’ said Mr Wonka.
‘Braw!’ shouted Violet. ‘It’s tomatae soup! It’s hoat and creamy and
delicious! I can feel it slidderin doon ma thrapple!’
‘Stap!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘The chawin-gum’s no ready yet! It’s no richt!’
‘Coorse it’s richt!’ said Violet. ‘It’s warkin perfectly weel! Och aye, whit
braw soup this is!’
‘Spit it oot!’ said Mr Wonka.
‘It’s chyngin!’ shouted Violet, chawin and grinnin baith at the same time.
‘The second coorse is comin up! It’s roast beef! It’s braw and juicy! Ya boay,
whit a flavour! The baked tattie is mervellous and aw! It’s got a crispy skin
and it’s aw filled wi butter inside!’
‘But hoo in-terestin, Violet,’ said Mrs Boakregarde. ‘You are a clivver
lassie.’
‘Keep chawin, darlin!’ said Mr Boakregarde. ‘Keep richt on chawin! This
is a great day for the Boakregardes! Oor wee lassie is the first person in the
warld tae hae a chawin-gum meal!’
Awbody wis watchin Violet Boakregarde as she stood there chawin this
byordinar gum. Wee Chairlie Baffie wis gawpin at her absolutely spellboond,
watchin her muckle rubbery lips as they pressed and unpressed wi the chawin,
and Granda Jock stood aside him, glowerin at the lassie. Mr Wonka wis
wringin his hauns and sayin, ‘Naw, naw, naw, naw, naw! It isnae ready for
eatin! It isnae richt! Ye shouldnae dae it!’
‘Blueberry pie and cream!’ shouted Violet. ‘Here it cams! Och wow, it’s
perfect! It’s braw! It’s . . . it’s exactly as though I’m swallaein it! It’s as
though I’m chawin and swallaein muckle great spoonfaes o the maist
mervellous blueberry pie in the warld!’
‘Guid heivens, lassie!’ skraiched Mrs Boakregarde, gawpin at Violet,

‘whit’s happenin tae yer neb?’
‘Och haud yer wheesht, mither, and let me feenish!’ said Violet.
‘It’s turnin blue, lass!’ skirled Mrs Boakregarde. ‘Yer neb is turnin as blue

as a blueberry!’
‘Yer mither’s richt!’ shouted Mr Boakregarde. ‘Yer haill neb’s gaun aw

purpie!’
‘Whit dae ye mean?’ said Violet, still chawin awa.
‘Yer cheeks!’ skraiched Mrs Boakregarde. ‘They’re turnin blue as weel!

Sae’s yer chin! Yer haill fizzog is turnin blue!’
‘Spit that gum oot at wance!’ ordered Mr Boakregarde.
‘Mercy! Save us!’ yowled Mrs Boakregarde. ‘The lassie’s gaun blue and

purpie aw ower! Even her hair is chyngin colour! Violet, ye’re turnin violet,
Violet! Whit is happenin tae ye?’

‘I telt ye I hadnae got it jist richt,’ seched Mr Wonka, shakkin his heid.
‘Ye’re tellin me ye huvnae!’ said Mrs Boakregarde. ‘Jist look at the quine
noo!’
Awbody wis gawpin at Violet. And whit an awfie unco sicht she wis! Her
fizzog and hauns and shanks and craigie, in fact the skin aw ower her boady,
as weel as her great big mop o curly hair, had turnt a brilliant purpie-blue, the
colour o blueberry juice!’
‘It ayewis gangs agley when we cam tae the puddin,’ seched Mr Wonka.
‘It’s the blueberry pie that’s aw wrang, ye see. But I’ll get it richt wan day, jist
see if I dinnae.’
‘Violet,’ skraiched Mrs Boakregarde, ‘ye’re sweelin up!’
‘I feel seik,’ Violet said.
‘Ye’re sweelin up!’ skraiched Mrs Boakregarde again.
‘I’m no feelin richt!’ peched Violet.
‘I dinnae blame ye!’ said Mr Boakregarde.
‘Guid sakes, lassie!’ skirled Mrs Boakregarde. ‘Ye’re blawin up like a
balloon!’
‘Mair like a blueberry,’ said Mr Wonka.
‘Caw a doctor!’ shouted Mr Boakregarde.
‘Stick a peen in her!’ said ane o the ither faithers.
‘Save ma lassie!’ cried Mrs Boakregarde, wringin her hauns.

But there wis nae savin her noo. Her boady wis sweelin up and chyngin shape
at sic a rate that efter a meenit it had turnt intae naethin less than an
undeemous roond blue baw – a gigantic blueberry, in fact – and aw that wis
left o Violet Boakregarde hersel wis a tottie pair o shanks and a tottie pair o
airms stickin oot o the muckle roond fruit wi a wee heid on tap o it.

‘It ayewis happens like that,’ seched Mr Wonka. ‘I’ve tried it oot twinty
times on Heedrum-Hodrums in the Testin Chaumer, and ilka ane o them
feenished up as blue as a blueberry. It’s maist annoyin. I jist cannae
unnerstaun it.’

‘But I dinnae want a blueberry for a dochter!’ yowled Mrs Boakregarde.
‘Pit her back they wey she wis richt noo!’

Mr Wonka snappit his fingirs, and ten Heedrum-Hodrums appeart
immediately at his side.

‘Rowe Miss Boakregarde intae the boat,’ he said tae them, ‘and tak her
alang tae the Juicin Chaumer at wance.’

‘The Juicin Chaumer?’ cried oot Mrs Boakregarde. ‘Whit are they gonnae
dae wi her there?’

‘Squeeze her,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘We’ve got tae squeeze the juice oot o her
immediately. Efter that, we’ll jist hae tae see hoo she turns oot. But dinnae
fash, ma dear Mrs Boakregarde. We’ll get her mendit if it’s the last thing we

dae. I am sorry aboot aw this, I really am . . . ’
Awready the ten Heedrum-Hodrums were rowin the eediotically-muckle

blueberry across the flair o the Inventin Chaumer towards the door that led tae
the chocolate river whaur the boat wis waitin. Mr and Mrs Boakregarde
hurried efter them. The rest o the pairty, includin wee Chairlie Baffie and
Granda Jock, stood absolutely stane still and watched them gang.

‘Listen!’ whuspered Chairlie. ‘Listen, Granda! The Heedrum-Hodrums in the
boat ootside are stertin tae sing!’

The voices, a hunner o them aw chantin thegither, cam lood and clear intae
the room:

‘Heedrum-Hodrum, och aye the noo!
We’ve got a wee bit sang noo for you!
Dear freends, I ken we aw agree
There’s nearhaun naethin warse tae see
Than some honkin hackit bizzum
That’s ayewis chawin chawin-gum.
(It’s as bad as thae tinkie plebs

That sit aboot and pick their nebs.)
And sae please hear this guid advice -
That chawin gum is no sae wice.
This clatty habit’s boond tae send
The chawer tae a clatty end.
Did ony o ye ever ken
A wife cawed Mrs But n Ben?
This awfie wummin saw nae wrang
In chawin chuggie aw day lang.
She chawed while walkin tae her wirk,
She chawed while prayin in the kirk,
Aye up and doon gaed chin and chaft -
She really wis completely daft!
And when she couldnae find her gum
She’d chaw the breeks richt aff her bum,
Or onythin that she could rax -
Cheese fae her taes, some auld lug wax,
Wance she chawed her foostie snochters,
And even chawed her boy-freend’s oxters.
She chawed sae muckle that ere lang
Her chawin muscles grew sae strang
That fae her face her giant chin
Stuck oot like a violin.
For years she chawed incessantly,
Consumin fifty dauds a day,
Until wan simmer’s nicht (aw, naw!)
She bit aff mair than she could chaw.
Mrs But n Ben gaed aff tae bed,
For hauf an oor she lay and read,

Chawin and chawin aw the while,
Like a big crabbit crocodile.
At last, she gobbed her chuddie oot
Intae a special silken cloot,
And cooried doon and gaed tae sleep
By coontin glaikit baw-faced sheep.
But noo, ho-ho!, although she sleepit,
Thae muckle jaws o hers aye keepit
Chawin and chawin through the nicht,
Wi naethin there tae bite in sicht.
They were, ye see, sae used tae it
They positively had tae flit.
And whit a fricht it wis tae hear
In pitmirk daurkness, lood and drear,
This sleepin wummin’s great big mooth
Openin and shuttin - sae uncouth -
Faster and faster, snap-snap-snap,
The soond gaed on, it widnae stap.
Until at last her jaws decide
Tae pause and open extra wide,
And wi the maist tremendous chaw
They bit the wifie’s tongue in twa.
And sae, because o chawin gum,
That puir wummin wis ayewis dumb
And spent her days shut up in some
Stoorie auld sanitorium.
And that is why we’ll try gey hard
Tae save Miss Violet Boakregarde

Fae sufferin an equal fate.
She’s aye young yet. It’s no too late,
As lang as she survives the cure.
We hope she does, but we’re no sure.’

22

Ben the Loabby

‘Weel, weel, weel,’ seched Mr Wullie Wonka, ‘that’s twa wee scunners awa.
Three guid bairnies left. I think we’d better get oot o this room quick afore we
lose onybody else!”

‘But Mr Wonka,’ said Chairlie Baffie aw anxious, ‘will Violet Boakregarde
ever be awricht again or will she aye jist be a muckle big blueberry?’

‘They’ll de-juice her in nae time at aw!’ declared Mr Wonka. ‘They’ll rowe
her intae the de-juicin machine, and she’ll come oot jist as thin as a whistle!’

‘But will she still be blue aw ower?’ spiered Chairlie.
‘She’ll be purpie!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘A bonnie braw purpie fae heid tae fit!
But there ye are! That’s whit ye get for chawin mingin gum aw day lang!’
‘If you think gum is sae mingin,’ said Mike Teeveeheid, ‘then why dae ye
mak it in yer factory?’
‘Please dinnae mummle oot the corner o yer mooth,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘I
cannae hear a word ye’re sayin. C’moan! Aff we go! Hurry up! Follae me!
We’re gaun intae the loabbies again!’ And sayin that, Mr Wonka nashed
across tae the faur end o the Inventin Chaumer and gaed through a sma secret
door hidden ahint a rammy o pipes and stoves. The three remainin bairns –
Veruca Saut, Mike Teeveeheid and Chairlie Baffie – thegither wi the five
remainin grown-ups, follaed efter him.
Chairlie Baffie saw that they were noo back in ane o thae lang pink
loabbies wi mony ither pink loabbies leadin aff it. Mr Wonka wis wheechin
alang in front, turnin left and richt and richt and left, and Granda Jock wis
sayin, ‘Keep a guid haud o ma haun, Chairlie. It wid be awfie tae get loast in
here.’

Mr Wonka wis sayin, ‘Nae time for ony mair scutterin aboot! We’ll never get
onywhaur at the rate we’ve been gaun!’ And on he jinked, doon the enless
pink loabbies, wi his bleck lum hat papped on the tap o his heid and his
ploom-coloured velvet coat-tails fleein oot ahint him like a flag in the wund.

They passed a door in the waw. ‘Nae time tae gang in!’ shouted Mr Wonka.
‘Keep gaun! Keep gaun!’

They passed anither door, then anither and anither. There were doors ilka
twinty fit or sae alang the loabby noo, and they aw had somethin scrievit on
them, and unco clankin soonds were comin fae ahint a wheen o them, and
delicious smells cam waftin through the keyholes, and whiles wee jets o
coloured steam shot oot fae the cracks unnerneath.

Granda Jock and Chairlie were hauf rinnin and hauf walkin tae keep up wi
Mr Wonka, but they were aye able tae read whit it said on a wheen o the doors
as they hurried by. SCRANNABLE MARSHMALLAE PILLAES, it said on
ane.

‘Marshmallae pillaes are braw!’ shouted Mr Wullie Wonka as he jouked
past. ‘They’ll be aw the rage when I get them in the shoaps! Nae time tae
gang in, though! Nae time tae gang in!’

SOOKABLE WAWPAPER FOR NURSERIES, it said on the nixt door.