Roald Dahl's "Matilda": THE TRUNCHBULL Was Real! A Real B----, That Is

Roald Dahl didn't really have to invent The Trunchbull, the villainous headmistress in "MATILDA." That torpedo-bosomed bitch is a fictional amalgamation of all the real bastards he endured the "care" of as a 9 to 13 year old boy living at a boarding school for boys in England.

As if George Orwell's essay, "Such, Such Were the Joys"    were not a sufficiently damning indictment of the treatment of little boys at English boarding schools during a certain early 20th century time period, the very comical Dahl has proved there are many hilarious and yet sadistic incidents about the wrongs done to children in those schools at that time. Just read the brief, easy-to-read memoir, "Boy: Tales of Childhood" by Roald Dahl. It is very fun, very easy, and also filled with happy fun memories of a sweet family life-- so at home things were very good. This explains the happy sweet fun-ness in all those kids books by Dahl. It all has the same spirit and makes me laugh.

George Orwell's essays

True story

But more about the Trunchbull. In real life there were multiple adults who hated children and treated them as insects. One was the Matron. She was a frighteningly bosomed woman who was in charge of the little boys in teh dormitory. If ever they were sick, they were afraid to tell her. For when one boy of age 9 named Tweedie snored in his sleep, the Matron used scissors on her belt to shave soap into little shards until she had a fistful. She then dribbled into Tweedie's mouth. All the boys in the dormitory lay in their beds frozen in horror and terror watching her out of the corner of their eyes:
"Nothing happened. Tweedie kept right on snoring. Then suddenly he began to gurgle and white bubbles appeared around his lips. The bubbles grew and grew until in the end his whole face seemed to be smothered in a bubble foaming white soapy froth. It was a horrific sight. Then all at once, Tweedie gave a very great cough and a splutter and he sat up very fast and began clawing at his face with his hands. 'Oh!' he stuttered. 'Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh no! Wh-Wh-What's happening? Wh-what's on my face! Somebody help me!'
The Matron threw him a face flannel and said, 'Wipe it off. And don't ever let me hear you snoring again.'"

You couldn't tell your parents what was happening. Every sunday morning at 9 am children went to class to write letters to their parents for 1 hour. The headmaster would patrol the rooms and read over their shoulders.

Also, one woman was named Mrs Pratchett. This old hag sold candy to children in her shop. After a deliciously mischievous prank on deservedly punk'd Mrs Pratchett, Dahl and his friends received bloody bruised cane beatings from their headmaster while Mrs Pratchett sat and said, 'Harder! Sticth em up! Make it sting! Warm his backside for him!"

That night Dahl returned home with red stripes and blue bruises on his butt, discovered by his nanny and mom at bathtime. That night his mom marched over to the school and told the headmaster Roald would not be back for the next semester.

At 5 am in the morning when I couldn't sleep sleep, or at 12 pm in the afternoon when I finally stopped sleeping for today, I really enjoyed this little book. Roald Dahl really remembers the innocence and comradeship of being a kid, only he is far more clever and funny than most.