Her name was Matilda, but she wasn’t that Matilda. You’ve seen the film, perhaps the brighter ones of you have even read the book, and think you know who Matilda is. But this Matilda wasn’t that Matilda.
This Matilda was Matilda Jones and she lived at 231/3 Cardiff Road, Aberystwyth. She lived there with her parents, Marjory and Gareth, and her little brother, Derek. They were a happy family, they ate together, went to the park together, watched Gareth play for the local rugby club every Saturday afternoon. They were such a happy family that they could even survive Derek declaring he hated rugby, family was more important than even rugby.
But what was Matilda like? Matilda was of average height. Matilda liked the cinema, and all the noise and action that could be seen there. She hated books. At school Matilda struggled, but she got by.
This is not the Matilda you know, is it? I told you.
When Matilda was fourteen her teacher Ms Morgan, took her her class on a trip to the National Library of Wales. The library contains much of the literary treasure of Wales: the poems of Dylan Thomas, the stories of Roald Dahl, the plays of Twm o’r Nant. However, the real importance of the National was that it didn’t just have these English language books, that could be found just about everywhere, but that it contains all the books of the Welsh language.
During a tour of the library many important facts were stuffed into the minds of the children by the chief librarian, a Miss Spinters. Now it should be said that Matilda couldn’t quite bring herself to concentrate on them all, but if she heard correctly then we can say that the National Library of Wales:
- has so many books that if you laid them end to end they could cover the whole coastline of the British Isles
- that there are 5, 542 shelves on the library and it would take the cleaners three days to dust them all if they were to start and never stop till done
- that some of the most precious books of the library had been lost in a fire started when the national dragon of Wales once visited when he had a bad cold
Well, as I said, Matilda was finding it hard to concentrate and perhaps not all those facts are true.
At the end of the tour the children were given a couple of hours of free time. This free time was supposed to allow them to the opportunity to go and visit the parts of the library that had interested them most so they could study them in more detail. Ms Morgan had stressed that the next day there would be an essay to write on their favourite thing in the library so they had better use the time wisely.
Matilda, as we said before, hated books. Finding her favourite or most interesting thing in this library was going to be a real issue for her. Yet she knew she had to find something to write about the next day or she would be getting the first ‘F’ or her life.
Matilda wandered alone for a while, but to no avail. Then she found herself outside a room that said ‘No Entry Unless Your Name Begins with ‘M.’ Matilda thought for a moment, she’d never been a good speller, but she was quite sure that her name did indeed begin with the letter ‘M.’
Matilda opened the door and entered. The room was large, it stretched so far that she couldn’t quite find the end of it within her sight. There were rows of books stacked on the shelves of the bookcases, and a long seemingly never ending table in the middle of the room. But what there was not was a single human being.
Matilda began to wonder if this had been such a good idea. Was this one of those pranks that the Griffiths brothers liked to play so much on people? She had to decide to scoot out of the room as fast as she could or stay and investigate.
Before she could decide a man appeared beside her. Where he had come from was a mystery, she was sure that no one had entered.
‘Hello, Matilda,’ he said.
‘Hello, Mr … er … sir … ‘
‘My name is Dahl. I am here to help you.’
‘Help me? With what?’
‘Well, I heard you have an assignment.’
‘Yes, I have to find something in this library that I like so I can write about it tomorrow.’
‘Well, that shouldn’t be so difficult, should it? We are surrounded by books here.’
‘Yes, I know, but I hate books.’
‘Hate books? Hmm, and why would that be?’
‘They don’t make sense to me. And it’s so tiring to try and make something out of them.’
‘Yet, you like films, don’t you Matilda, and they don’t always make sense either. Do they?’
‘No, but I can see the pictures and the images and when I think just a little it all makes a pattern for me.’
‘And what do you see when you look in a book?’
‘I see letters and words, and then people tell me that I’ve seen the wrong letters and words. And I have to start again, and this time I see different words, but still not always the right words.’
‘Can you put these yellow glasses on?
‘What?’
‘Put the yellow glasses on.’
‘But …’
‘Just do it dear. I know yellow was last year’s colour, but please, just put them on.’
Matilda decided that she probably shouldn’t argue. She put on the yellow glasses.
‘Now go the bookcase over there. Two shelves up and three books across on your right. Take that book and bring it here.’
Matilda did as she was told and went to Mr Dahl, who was now sitting at the long table.
‘Open the book, Matilda, What do you see?’
‘Words.’
‘And what do those words say?’
‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’
‘Exactly as I thought.’
Matilda continued to read until it was time to go and re-join her school party.
The next day at school, at essay time, Matilda took out her yellow glasses. Ms Morgan wasn’t impressed.
‘Matilda, take off those hideous yellow specs.’
‘But I have to wear them,’ she tried to explain.
‘Have to? Don’t be silly.’
‘Mr Dahl told me to.’
‘Mr Dahl?’
‘The man I met in the library.’
‘You met Mr Dahl, impossible.’
‘It’s not impossible. I met him yesterday, he told me that wearing the yellow glasses would allow me to read and write well. Yesterday we read Dylan Thomas together.’
‘But you can’t have. Mr Dahl has been dead twenty years!’
‘Well, my Mr Dahl, isn’t,’ said Matilda indignantly.
‘Well, OK. You have one chance. Wear your glasses, and if you get an A, I’ll believe your story.’
When Ms Morgan read Matilda’s essay later that evening she smiled to herself.
‘Mr Dahl is back.’
