This special page contains originally unpublished Charlie and the Chocolate Factory chapters.
“This stuff,” said Mr. Wonka, "is going to cause chaos in schools all over the world when I get it in the shops.” The room they now entered had rows and rows of pipes coming straight up out of the floor. The pipes were bent over at the top and they looked like large walking sticks. Out of every pipe there trickled a stream of white crystals. Hundreds of Oompa-Loompas were running to and fro, catching the crystals in little golden boxes and stacking the boxes against the walls. “Spotty Powder!” exclaimed Mr Wonka, beaming at the company. “There it is! That’s it! Fantastic stuff!”
“It looks like sugar,” said Miranda Piker.
“It’s meant to look like sugar,” Mr Wonka said. “And it tastes like sugar. But it isn’t sugar. Oh, dear me, no.”
“Then what is it?” asked Miranda Piker, speaking rather rudely.
“That door over there,” said Mr Wonka, turning away from Miranda and pointing to a small red door at the far end of the room, “leads directly down to the machine that makes the powder. Twice a day, I go down there myself to feed it. But I'm the only one. Nobody ever comes with me.” They all stared at the little door on which it said MOST SECRET — KEEP OUT. The hum and throb of powerful machinery could be heard coming up from the depths below, and the floor itself was vibrating all the time. The children could feel it through the soles of their shoes. Miranda Piker now pushed forward and stood in front of Mr Wonka. She was a nasty-looking girl with a smug face and a smirk on her mouth, and whenever she spoke it was always with a voice that seemed to be saying: “Everybody is a fool except me.”“OK,” Miranda Piker said, smirking at Mr Wonka. “So what’s the big news? What’s this stuff meant to do when you eat it?”
“Ah-ha,” said Mr Wonka, his eyes sparkling with glee. “You’d never guess that, not in a million years. Now listen. All you have to do is sprinkle it over your cereal at breakfast-time, pretending it’s sugar. Then you eat it. And then, exactly five seconds after that, you come out in bright red spots all over your face and neck.”
“What sort of a silly ass wants spots on his face at breakfast-time?” said Miranda Piker.
“Let me finish,” said Mr Wonka. “So then your mother looks at you across the table and says, ‘My poor child. You must have chickenpox. You can’t possibly go to school today.’ So you stay at home. But by lunch-time, the spots have all disappeared.”
“Terrific!” shouted Charlie. “That’s just what I want for the day we have exams!”
“That is the ideal time to use it,” said Mr Wonka. “But you mustn’t do it too often or it’ll give the game away. Keep it for the really nasty days.”
“Father!” cried Miranda Piker. “Did you hear what this stuff does? It’s shocking! It mustn’t be allowed!” Mr Piker, Miranda’s father, stepped forward and faced Mr Wonka. He had a smooth white face like a boiled onion. “Now see here, Wonka,” he said. “I happen to be the headmaster of a large school, and I won’t allow you to sell this rubbish to the children! It’s . . . criminal! Why, you’ll ruin the school system of the entire country!”
“I hope so,” said Mr Wonka. “It’s got to be stopped!” shouted Mr Piker, waving his cane. “Who’s going to stop it?” asked Mr Wonka. “In my factory, I make things to please children. I don’t care about grown-ups.”
“I am top of my form,” Miranda Piker said, smirking at Mr Wonka. “And I’ve never missed a day’s school in my life.”
“Then it’s time you did,” Mr Wonka said. “How dare you!” said Mr Piker. “All holidays and vacations should be stopped!” cried Miranda. “Children are meant to work, not play.”
“Quite right, my girl,” cried Mr Piker, patting Miranda on the top of the head. “All work and no play has made you what you are today.”
“Isn’t she wonderful?” said Mrs Piker, beaming at her daughter. “Come on then, Father!” cried Miranda. “Let’s go down into the cellar and smash the machine that makes this dreadful stuff!”
“Forward!” shouted Mr Piker, brandishing his cane and making a dash for the little red door on which it said MOST SECRET — KEEP OUT.
“Stop!” said Mr Wonka. “Don’t go in there! It’s terribly secret!” “Let’s see you stop us, you old goat!” shouted Miranda. “We’ll smash it to smithereens!” yelled Mr Piker. And a few seconds later the two of them had disappeared through the door. There was a moment’s silence. Then, far off in the distance, from somewhere deep underground, there came a fearful scream. “That’s my husband!” cried Mrs Piker, going blue in the face. There was another scream. “And that’s Miranda!” yelled Mrs Piker, beginning to hop around in circles. “What’s happening to them? What have you got down there, you dreadful beast?” “Oh, nothing much,” Mr Wonka answered. “Just a lot of cogs and wheels and chains and things like that, all going round and round and round.”
“You villain!” she screamed. “I know your tricks! You’re grinding them into powder! In two minutes my darling Miranda will come pouring out of one of those dreadful pipes, and so will my husband!”
“Of course,” said Mr Wonka. “That’s part of the recipe.”
“We’ve got to use one or two schoolmasters occasionally or it wouldn’t work.”
“Did you hear him?” shrieked Mrs Piker, turning to the others. “He admits it! He’s nothing but a cold-blooded murderer!” Mr Wonka smiled and patted Mrs Piker gently on the arm. “Dear lady,” he said, “I was only joking.” “Then why did they scream?” snapped Mrs Piker. “I distinctly heard them scream!”
“Those weren’t screams,” Mr Wonka said. “They were laughs.”
“My husband never laughs,” said Mrs Piker. Mr Wonka flicked his fingers, and up came an Oompa-Loompa. “Kindly escort Mrs Piker to the boiler room,” Mr Wonka said. “Don’t fret, dear lady,” he went on, shaking Mrs Piker warmly by the hand. “They’ll all come out in the wash. There’s nothing to worry about. Off you go. Thank you for coming. Farewell! Goodbye! A pleasure to meet you!” “Listen, Charlie!” said Grandpa Joe. “The Oompa-Loompas are starting to sing again!” “Oh, Miranda Mary Piker!” sang the five Oompa-Loompas dancing about and laughing and beating madly on their tiny drums.
“Oh, Miranda Mary Piker,
How could anybody like her,
Such a priggish and revolting little kid.
So we said, ‘Why don't we fix her
In the Spotty-Powder mixer
Then we’re bound to like her better than we did.’
Soon this child who is so vicious
Will have gotten quite delicious,
And her classmates will have surely understood
That instead of saying, ‘Miranda!
Oh, the beast! We cannot stand her!’
They'll be saying, ‘Oh, how useful and how good!’ ”
The remaining eight children, together with their mothers and fathers, were ushered out into the long white corridor once again.
"I wonder how Augustus Pottle and Miranda Grope are feeling now?" Charlie Bucket asked his mother.
"Not too cocky, I shouldn't think" Mrs Bucket answered. "Here – hold on to my hand, will you, darling. That's right. Hold on tight and try not to let go. And don't you go doing anything silly in here, either, you understand, or you might get sucked up into one of those dreadful pipes yourself, or something even worse maybe. Who knows?"
Little Charlie took a tighter hold of Mrs Bucket's hand as they walked down the long corridor. Soon they came to a door on which it said:
THE VANILLA FUDGE ROOM
"Hey, this is where Augustus Pottle went to, isn't it?" Charlie Bucket said.
"No", Mr Wonka told him. "Augustus Pottle is in Chocolate Fudge. This is Vanilla. Come inside, everybody, and take a peek."
They went into another cavernous room, and here again a really splendid sight met their eyes.
In the centre of the room there was an actual mountain, a colossal jagged mountain as high as a five-storey building, and the whole thing was made of pale-brown, creamy, vanilla fudge. All the way up the sides of the mountain, hundreds of men were working away with picks and drills, hacking great hunks of fudge out of the mountainside; and some of them, those that were high up in dangerous places, were roped together for safety.
As the huge hunks of fudge were pried loose, they went tumbling and bouncing down the mountain, and when they reached the bottom they were picked up by cranes with grab-buckets, and the cranes dumped the fudge into open waggons – into an endless moving line of waggons (rather like smallish railway waggons) which carried the stuff away to the far end of the room and then through a hole in the wall.
"It's all fudge!" Mr Wonka said grandly.
"Can we climb up to the top?" The children shouted, jumping up and down.
"Yes, if you are careful," Mr Wonka said. "Go up on that side over there where the men aren't working, then the big hunks won't come tumbling down on top of you."
So the children had a wonderful time scrambling up to the top of the mountain and scrambling down again, and all the way there and back they kept picking up lumps of fudge and guzzling them.
"Now I'm going to have ride on one of those waggons," said a rather bumptious little boy called Wilbur Rice.
"So am I!" Shouted another boy called Tommy Troutbeck.
"No, please don't do that." Mr Wonka said. "Those things are dangerous. You might get run over."
"You'd better not, Wilbur, darling," Mrs Rice (Wilbur's mother) said.
"Don't you do it either, Tommy," Mrs Troutbeck (Tommy's mother) told him. "The man here says it's dangerous."
"Nuts!" Exclaimed Tommy Troutbeck. "Nuts to you!"
"Crazy old Wonka!" shouted Wilbur Rice, and the two boys ran forward and jumped on to one of the waggons as it went by. Then they climbed up and sat right on the top of its load of fudge.
"Heigh-ho everybody!" shouted Wilbur Rice.
"First stop Chicago!" shouted Tommy Troutbeck, waving his arms.
"He's wrong about that," Mr Willy Wonka said quietly. "The first stop is most certainly not Chicago."
"He's quite a lad, our Wilbur", Mr Rice (Wilbur's father) said proudly. "He's always up to his little tricks."
"Wilbur!" shouted Mrs Rice, as the waggon went shooting across the room. "Come off there at once! Do you hear me!"
"You too Tommy!" shouted Mrs Troutbeck. "Come on, off you get! There's no knowing where that thing's headed for!"
"Wilbur!" Shouted Mrs Rice. "Will you get off that … that … my goodness! It's gone through a hole in the wall!"
"Don't say I didn't warn them," Mr Wonka declared. "Your children are not particularly obedient, are they?"
"But where has it gone?" Both mothers cried at the same time. "What's through that hole?"
"That hole," said Mr Wonka, "leads directly to what we call The Pounding And Cutting Room. In there, the rough fudge gets tipped out of the waggons into the mouth of a huge machine. The machine then pounds it against the floor until it is all nice and smooth and thin. After that, a whole lot of knives come down and go chop chop chop, cutting it up into neat little squares, ready for the shops."
"How dare you!" screamed Mrs Rice. "I refuse to allow our Wilbur to be cut up into neat little squares."
"That goes for Tommy, too!" cried Mrs Troutbeck. "No boy of mine is going to be put into a shop window as vanilla fudge! We've spent too much on his education already!"
"Quite right," said Mr Troutbeck. "We didn't bring Tommy in here just to feed your rotten fudge machine! We brought him here for your fudge machine to feed him! You've got it the wrong way round a bit, haven't you, Mr Wonka?"
"I'll say he has!" said Mrs Troutbeck.
"Now, now," murmured Mr Willy Wonka soothingly. "Now, now, now. Calm down, everybody, please. If the four parents concerned will kindly go along with this assistant of mine here, they will be taken directly to (the) room where their boys are waiting. You see, we have a large wire strainer in there which is used specially for catching children before they fall into the machine. It always catches them. At least it always has up to now."
"I wonder," said Mrs Troutbeck.
"So do I," said Mrs Rice.
And high up on the mountainside, one of the workers lifted up his voice, and sang:
"Eight little children – such charming little chicks.
But two of them said 'Nuts to you,' and then there were six."
The Warming-Candy Room
'“Now you just keep holding onto my hand, Charlie,” Mrs. Bucket said as they moved on down the corridor to the next room.
“I’m having a lovely time!” Charlie said. “I think it’s exciting!”
“Well, just you behave yourself,” Mrs. Bucket told him sternly. “There’s five of them gone already just from getting into mischief and there’s no telling who the next one will be.”
Mr. Willy Wonka stopped outside a door on which it said:
THE WARMING-CANDY ROOM
“Warming-candy is a grand new item,” Mr. Wonka said. “We’ve just started making it. We’ll be putting it in the shops next week. It’s going to cause a sensation. Come in, please, and have a look.” So in they went.
The Warming-Candy Room looked more than anything else like the engine room of a gigantic old-fashioned ship. There were turbines humming and great pistons going up and down, and men were climbing about high up on steel ladders, and there wheels and pipes and pressure gauges and dials, and in the middle of it all there was an enormous, gleaming, silver-coloured boiler with five white-hot jets of flames playing upon its sides.
“Now you see that silver pipe, “ Mr. Wonka said, pointing to a tiny metal tube no longer than a pencil that was sticking out of one end of the great boiler. “That’s where the warming-candy comes out. Watch it!”
Everybody clustered around, staring at the silver pipe. A small drop of scarlet liquid formed on the end of the pipe. It lay there for a few seconds, then it broke away and fell to the ground, and as it fell, it cooled and hardened into a tiny red pellet, no longer than a bead. The pellet bounced on the floor and rolled away to a corner of the room where there was already a whole heap of them.
“Did you notice how quickly it cooled down?” said Mr. Wonka. “That’s the whole secret of warming-candy. It starts off, you see, as a kind of thick, runny, red, liquid. The liquid is then passed very slowly through this powerful machine, and as it goes through, the machine puts into it an unbelievable amount of heat. It makes it hotter than anything has ever been before in the world. And as a secret, when the liquid finally comes out (one drop at a time) into the open air and starts to cool down very quickly, there is so much heat in it that there is never time for all of it to escape. It all gets bottled up inside. It can’t get out. It has to stay there. The heat lives within that little pellet of warming-candy, and then, by a magic process, as the pellet rolls across the floor, the hot heat changes into an amazing thing called ‘cold heat.’ If it was hot heat it would be far too hot for you to eat, if you see what I mean. So we turn it into ‘cold heat.’ Each little piece of my special warming-candy has a delicious soft centre that is made entirely of ‘cold heat.’
“Cold heat!” cried one of the fathers contemptuously. “There’s no such thing!”
“There is now that I’ve invented it,” said Mr. Wonka proudly. “And all you have to do is to pop one of those little warming-candies into your mouth and suck it, and if you’re feeling cold or shivery, it’ll warm you up all over. Why, you can actually stand out in the snow on a freezing day with no clothes on at all, and just so long are you are sucking one of these tiny sweets, then you’ll feel warm as toast.”
“It’s crazy,” said another father.
“It’s true,” said Mr. Wonka, “And I’d gladly give one to each of you right now to try for yourselves – except that is would only make you hotter than ever on such a very hot day as this.”“
It’s all baloney!” said a boy called Clarence Crump.
“Baloney is right!” said a second boy whose name was Bertie Upside. “You could eat a sackful of that junk and you wouldn’t feel any hotter!” “
Why don’t we prove it?” cried a third boy called Terence Roper. Whereupon, all three of them ran forward to the heap of little red warming-candies and started cramming handfuls of them into their mouths as fast as they could.
“Foolish boys,” murmured Mr. Wonka.
“It’s just as I said!” shouted Clarence Crump. “Nothing happens!”
“They taste pretty good, though,” said Bertie Upside, taking another handful.
“It’s just ordinary sugar-candy!” shouted Terence Roper. “The whole thing’s a fake!”
At that point, Clarence Crump was seen to take out a handkerchief and surreptitiously wipe his brow.
Bertie Upside started loosening his tie.
Terence Roper opened his mouth and took several deep breaths.
And suddenly, all three of them became scarlet in their faces, and sweat began pouring down their cheeks.
“Even on the coldest day,” said Mr. Wonka quietly, “one little warming-candy would be quite enough. But these foolish boys must have eaten a hundred each. I’m afraid they’re going to be extremely hot.”
The three boys were now bursting with heat. They ripped off their ties, then their jackets, then their shirts, and Mrs. Upside (Bertie’s mother) was madly trying to fan her wretched red-faced son with a handkerchief.
“I’m dying!” cried Clarence Crump, “I can’t stand it!”
“Water!” yelled Terence Roper. “Somebody get me some water, quick!”The parents were crowding around their perspiring sons, fanning them with newspapers and hats and handkerchiefs, and calling upon Mr. Wonka to help.
“They’ll get over it in time,” said Wonka, flicking his fingers in the direction of the door. A white-coated assistant came in, and Mr. Wonka said to him, “Put these three boys in the large refrigerator for a few hours, will you please. That ought to cool them off.” And out they went, with their parents following them, fanning them and fluttering about all around them and calling Mr. Wonka all sorts of horrid names which he did not deserve.
At that point, all the workers put down their oiling-cans and spanners and screw-drivers, and began chanting over and over again:
“Five little children were shown something new,
Three of them got much too sick, and then there were two.”
All of these chapters are printed with permission of Roald Dahl Nominee Limited. Copyright 1964, 2014 by the author.