The Trunchbull wheeled round and yelled, 'Silence!' The audience watched intently. They were thoroughly caught up in the contest. They were longing to start cheering but they didn't dare.
'I think he's going to make it,' Matilda whispered.
'I think so too,' Lavender whispered back. 'I wouldn't have believed anyone in the world could eat the whole of a cake that size.'
'The Trunchbull doesn't believe it either,' Matilda whispered. 'Look at her. She's turning redder and redder. She's going to kill him if he wins.'
The boy was slowing down now. There was no doubt about that. But he kept pushing the stuff into his mouth with the dogged perseverance of a long-distance runner who has sighted the finishing-line and knows he must keep going. As the very last mouthful disappeared, a tremendous cheer rose up from the audience and children were leaping on to their chairs and yelling and clapping and shouting, 'Well done, Brucie! Good for you, Brucie! You've won a gold medal, Brucie!'
The Trunchbull stood motionless on the platform. Her great horsy face had turned the colour of molten lava and her eyes were glittering with fury. She glared at Bruce Bogtrotter, who was sitting on his chair like some huge overstuffed grub, replete, comatose, unable to move or to speak. A fine sweat was beading his forehead but there was a grin of triumph on his face.
Suddenly the Trunchbull lunged forward and grabbed the large empty china platter on which the cake had rested. She raised it high in the air and brought it down with a crash right on the top of the wretched Bruce Bogtrotter's head and pieces flew all over the platform.
The boy was by now so full of cake he was like a sackful of wet cement and you couldn't have hurt him with a sledge-hammer. He simply shook his head a few times and went on grinning.
'Go to blazes!' screamed the Trunchbull and she marched off the platform followed closely by the cook.
Lavender
In the middle of the first week of Matilda's first term, Miss Honey said to the class, 'I have some important news for you, so listen carefully. You too, Matilda. Put that book down for a moment and pay attention.'
Small eager faces looked up and listened.
'It is the Headmistress's custom,' Miss Honey went on, 'to take over the class for one period each week. She does this with every class in the school and each class has a fixed day and a fixed time. Ours is always two o'clock on Thursday afternoons, immediately after lunch. So tomorrow at two o'clock Miss Trunchbull will be taking over from me for one lesson. I shall be here as well, of course, but only as a silent witness. Is that understood?'
'Yes, Miss Honey,' they chirruped.
'A word of warning to you all,' Miss Honey said. 'The Headmistress is very strict about everything. Make sure your clothes are clean, your faces are clean and your hands are clean. Speak only when spoken to. When she asks you a question, stand up at once before you answer it. Never argue with her. Never answer back. Never try to be funny. If you do, you will make her angry, and when the Headmistress gets angry you had better watch out.'
'You can say that again,' Lavender murmured.
'I am quite sure,' Miss Honey said, 'that she will be testing you on what you are meant to have learnt this week, which is your two-times table. So I strongly advise you to swot it up when you get home tonight. Get your mother or father to hear you on it.'
'What else will she test us on?' someone asked.'
'Spelling,' Miss Honey said. 'Try to remember everything you have learnt these last few days. And one more thing. A jug of water and a glass must always be on the table here when the Headmistress comes in. She never takes a lesson without that. Now who will be responsible for seeing that it's there?'
'I will,' Lavender said at once.
'Very well, Lavender,' Miss Honey said. 'It will be your job to go to the kitchen and get the jug and fill it with water and put it on the table here with a clean empty glass just before the lesson starts.'
'What if the jug's not in the kitchen?' Lavender asked.
'There are a dozen Headmistress's jugs and glasses in the kitchen,' Miss Honey said. 'They are used all over the school.'
'I won't forget,' Lavender said. 'I promise I won't.'
Already Lavender's scheming mind was going over the possibilities that this water-jug job had opened up for her. She longed to do something truly heroic. She admired the older girl Hortensia to distraction for the daring deeds she had performed in the school. She also admired Matilda, who had sworn her to secrecy about the parrot job she had brought off at home, and also the great hair-oil switch which had bleached her father's hair. It was her turn now to become a heroine if only she could come up with a brilliant plot.
On the way home from school that afternoon she began to mull over the various possibilities, and when at last the germ of a brilliant idea hit her, she began to expand on it and lay her plan
s with the same kind of care the Duke of Wellington had done before the Battle of Waterloo. Admittedly the enemy on this occasion was not Napoleon. But you would never have got anyone at Crunchem Hall to admit that the Headmistress was a less formidable foe than the famous Frenchman. Great skill would have to be exercised, Lavender told herself, and great secrecy observed if she was to come out of this exploit alive.
There was a muddy pond at the bottom of Lavender's garden and this was the home of a colony of newts. The newt, although fairly common in English ponds, is not often seen by ordinary people because it is a shy and murky creature. It is an incredibly ugly gruesome-looking animal, rather like a baby crocodile but with a shorter head. It is quite harmless but doesn't look it. It is about six inches long and very slimy, with a greenish-grey skin on top and an orange-coloured belly underneath. It is, in fact, an amphibian, which can live in or out of water.
That evening Lavender went to the bottom of the garden determined to catch a newt. They are swiftly moving animals and not easy to get hold of. She lay on the bank for a long time waiting patiently until she spotted a whopper. Then, using her school hat as a net, she swooped and caught it. She had lined her pencil-box with pond-weed ready to receive the creature, but she discovered that it was not easy to get the newt out of the hat and into the pencil-box. It wriggled and squirmed like quicksilver and, apart from that, the box was only just long enough to take it. When she did get it in at last, she had to be careful not to trap its tail in the lid when she slid it closed. A boy next door called Rupert Entwistle had told her that if you chopped off a newt's tail, the tail stayed alive and grew into another newt ten times bigger than the first one. It could be the size of a n alligator. Lavender didn't quite believe that, but she was not prepared to risk it happening.
Eventually she managed to slide the lid of the pencil-box right home and the newt was hers. Then, on second thoughts, she opened the lid just the tiniest fraction so that the creature could breathe.