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Mr. and Mrs. Wormwood had a son called
Michael and a daughter called Matilda, who was so quick to learn that her
ability should have been obvious even to the most stupid parents. But she was
their daughter. To tell the truth, I doubt they had noticed she crawled into
the house with a broken leg.
By the age of one and a half her speech
was perfect and she knew as many words as most grown-ups. The parents, instead
of praising her, called her a noisy chatterbox and told her sharply that small
girls should be seen and not heard.
By the time she was three, Matilda had
taught herself to read by studying newspapers and magazines that lay around the
house. At the age of four, she could read fast and well and she naturally began
seeking for books. The only book in the whole of this enlightened household was
something called Easy Cooking belonging to her mother, and when she had read
this from cover to cover, and had learnt all the recipes by heart, she decided
she wanted something more interesting.
"Daddy," she said, "do
you think you could buy me a book?
"A book?" he said. "What
do you want a book for?"
"To read, Daddy."
"What's wrong with the telly?
We've got a lovely telly with a twelve-inch screen and now you come asking for
a book!"
Nearly every weekday afternoon Matilda
was left alone in the house. Her brother went to school. Her father went to
work and her mother went out playing bingo. On the afternoon of the day when
her father had refused to buy her a book, Matilda set out all by herself to
walk to the public library in the village. She asked Mrs. Phelps, the
librarian, if she might sit a while and read a book. Mrs. Phelps, slightly
surprised at the arrival of such a tiny girl unaccompanied by a parent,
nevertheless told her she was very welcome.
"Where are the children's books
please!" Matilda asked.
"They're over there on those lower
shelves," Mrs. Phelps told her. "Would you like me to help you find a
nice one with lots of pictures in it?
"No, thank you." Matilda
said. "I'm sure I can manage."
From then on, every afternoon, as soon
as her mother had left for bingo, Matilda would walk down to the library, where
she spent two glorious hours sitting quietly by herself in a cosy comer
devouring one book after another. When she had read every single children's
book in the place, she started wandering around in search of something else.
Mrs. Phelps, who had been watching her
with interest for the past few weeks, now got up from her desk and went over to
her. "Can I help you, Matilda?" she asked.
"I'm wondering what to read next,"
Matilda said. "I've finished all the children's books."
"You mean you've looked at the
pictures?"
"yes, but I've read the books as
well. I thought some were very poor, but others were lovely. I like The Secret
Garden best of all. It was full of mystery. The mystery of the room behind the
closed door and the mystery of the garden behind the big wall".
Mrs. Phelps was stunned." Exactly
how old are you, Matilda?" she asked.
"Four years and
three months," Matilda said." I would like a really good book that
grown-ups read .A famous one."
Mrs. Phelps looked along the shelves,
taking her time." Try this", she said at last," It's very famous
and very good. If it's too long for you, just let me know".
"Great Expectations," Matilda
read, "by Charles Dickens. I'd love to try it"
