An epicure dying at Crewe found a rather large mouse in his stew.
Cried the waiter, don't shout and wave it about, or the rest will be wanting one too.
That was really cute.
That was lovely, Matilda.
And do you know what an epicure is?
It's someone who's dainty with his eating.
That's correct.
And do you happen to know what that particular type of poetry is called?
It's a limerick.
Indeed it is.
Now, a witty limerick is very hard to write.
I know.
I've tried quite a few times, but mine are never any good.
Well, I would very much like to hear one.
Could you remember one for us, dear?
Oh, yes, please.
I've actually been trying to make one up about you, Miss Honey.
About me?
Well, I simply must hear this. but it's using your first name to make things rhyme.
I heard another teacher call you Jenny this morning.
Jenny?
But I insist upon hearing it.
Yes, please, please.
Well, all right, it goes like this.
The thing we all ask about Jenny, is surely there cannot be many young girls in the place with so lovely a face.
The answer to that is not any.
Yeah, that's true.
I can't tell.
Oh, Miss Honey, the child's a genius.
Surely you can't teach her with the other children.
That's exactly what I felt, Mrs. Phelps.
So I went to see the headmistress.
The headmistress?
Yes.
Oh, you mean the terrible Miss Trunchbull.
I mean the terrible Miss Trunchbull.
I've heard that she's completely off her rocker.
Barmy is a bedbug, I'm afraid.
Yes!
What?
Oh, it's you, Miss Honey.
You're looking very flushed and flustered this morning.
Have those little stinkers been freaking spitballs at you?
No, Headmistress.
Well, get on with it.
I haven't got all day.
Well, there's a girl... Pass me that jug of water, will you?
I've been exercising.
Wax up quite a thirst.
Well, go on.
Go on.
There's a girl.
In my class.
Her name's Matilda Wormwood.
Yes.
Our father owns Wormwood Motors in the village.
An excellent person, Wormwood.
Sold me a car only yesterday.
He did almost new.
Only done 10,000 miles.
Terrific bargain.
Told me his daughter was a bad lot, though.
Oh, no.
Quite the contrary.
Says she's a real wart of a child.
I haven't met the little brat yet, but she'll know about it when I do.
Oh, no.
That girl...
It can't be right.
Oh, yes, it damn well is right.
I'm sure it was her who put a stink bomb under my desk.
Oh, no, Headmistress, you're mistaken.
Don't argue with me!
Now, why are you wasting my time?
I came here to tell you that Matilda is a genius.
A genius?
What piffle is this you're talking, madam?
I have her father's word for it that the child is a gangster.
Her father is wrong, Headmistress.
Don't be a twerp.
You've met the little beast for only half an hour and her father has known her all her life.
Nevertheless Headmistress, it is my opinion that Matilda should be taken out of my form and placed immediately in the top form with the eleven-year-olds.
Ha!
So you can't handle her, is that it?
You want to unload her onto the wretched Miss Plimsoll, which will cause even more chaos?
No, no.
I can see right through your little plot.
Matilda stays where she is, and that's the end of it.
Very well, then.
It's up to you, Headmistress.
You're right.
You're darn right it's up to me.
And don't forget madam, that we are dealing here with a little viper who put a stink bomb under my desk.
She did not.
Of course she did.
I wish to heavens I was still allowed to use the birch and belt as I did in the good old days.
I'd have roasted Matilda's bottom for her so she couldn't sit down for a month.
I was five and a half when I found myself in Miss Honey's class at Crunchum Hall School.
I liked Miss Honey straight away and was really glad to be in school at last.
I made friends with a girl called Lavender who was gutsy and adventurous.
The two of us would go round together at playtimes, and during that first week we started to hear awesome tales about the headmistress, Miss Trunchbull.
A big girl called Hortensia.
With a boil on the end of her nose, did her best to scare us.
