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In
the
summertime
,
this
was
n't
too
bad
,
but
in
the
winter
,
freezing
cold
draughts
blew
across
the
floor
all
night
long
,
and
it
was
awful
.
There
was
n't
any
question
of
them
being
able
to
buy
a
better
house
--
or
even
one
more
bed
to
sleep
in
.
They
were
far
too
poor
for
that
.
Mr
Bucket
was
the
only
person
in
the
family
with
a
job
.
He
worked
in
a
toothpaste
factory
,
where
he
sat
all
day
long
at
a
bench
and
screwed
the
little
caps
on
to
the
tops
of
the
tubes
of
toothpaste
after
the
tubes
had
been
filled
.
But
a
toothpaste
cap-screwer
is
never
paid
very
much
money
,
and
poor
Mr
Bucket
,
however
hard
he
worked
,
and
however
fast
he
screwed
on
the
caps
,
was
never
able
to
make
enough
to
buy
one
half
of
the
things
that
so
large
a
family
needed
.
There
was
n't
even
enough
money
to
buy
proper
food
for
them
all
.
The
only
meals
they
could
afford
were
bread
and
margarine
for
breakfast
,
boiled
potatoes
and
cabbage
for
lunch
,
and
cabbage
soup
for
supper
.
Sundays
were
a
bit
better
.
They
all
looked
forward
to
Sundays
because
then
,
although
they
had
exactly
the
same
,
everyone
was
allowed
a
second
helping
.
The
Buckets
,
of
course
,
did
n't
starve
,
but
every
one
of
them
--
the
two
old
grandfathers
,
the
two
old
grandmothers
,
Charlie
's
father
,
Charlie
's
mother
,
and
especially
little
Charlie
himself
--
went
about
from
morning
till
night
with
a
horrible
empty
feeling
in
their
tummies
.
Charlie
felt
it
worst
of
all
.
And
although
his
father
and
mother
often
went
without
their
own
share
of
lunch
or
supper
so
that
they
could
give
it
to
him
,
it
still
was
n't
nearly
enough
for
a
growing
boy
.
He
desperately
wanted
something
more
filling
and
satisfying
than
cabbage
and
cabbage
soup
.
The
one
thing
he
longed
for
more
than
anything
else
was
...
CHOCOLATE
.
Walking
to
school
in
the
mornings
,
Charlie
could
see
great
slabs
of
chocolate
piled
up
high
in
the
shop
windows
,
and
he
would
stop
and
stare
and
press
his
nose
against
the
glass
,
his
mouth
watering
like
mad
.
Many
times
a
day
,
he
would
see
other
children
taking
bars
of
creamy
chocolate
out
of
their
pockets
and
munching
them
greedily
,
and
that
,
of
course
,
was
pure
torture
.
Only
once
a
year
,
on
his
birthday
,
did
Charlie
Bucket
ever
get
to
taste
a
bit
of
chocolate
.
The
whole
family
saved
up
their
money
for
that
special
occasion
,
and
when
the
great
day
arrived
,
Charlie
was
always
presented
with
one
small
chocolate
bar
to
eat
all
by
himself
.
And
each
time
he
received
it
,
on
those
marvellous
birthday
mornings
,
he
would
place
it
carefully
in
a
small
wooden
box
that
he
owned
,
and
treasure
it
as
though
it
were
a
bar
of
solid
gold
;
and
for
the
next
few
days
,
he
would
allow
himself
only
to
look
at
it
,
but
never
to
touch
it
.
Then
at
last
,
when
he
could
stand
it
no
longer
,
he
would
peel
back
a
tiny
bit
of
the
paper
wrapping
at
one
corner
to
expose
a
tiny
bit
of
chocolate
,
and
then
he
would
take
a
tiny
nibble
--
just
enough
to
allow
the
lovely
sweet
taste
to
spread
out
slowly
over
his
tongue
.
The
next
day
,
he
would
take
another
tiny
nibble
,
and
so
on
,
and
so
on
.
And
in
this
way
,
Charlie
would
make
his
sixpenny
bar
of
birthday
chocolate
last
him
for
more
than
a
month
.
But
I
have
n't
yet
told
you
about
the
one
awful
thing
that
tortured
little
Charlie
,
the
lover
of
chocolate
,
more
than
anything
else
.
This
thing
,
for
him
,
was
far
,
far
worse
than
seeing
slabs
of
chocolate
in
the
shop
windows
or
watching
other
children
munching
bars
of
creamy
chocolate
right
in
front
of
him
.
It
was
the
most
terrible
torturing
thing
you
could
imagine
,
and
it
was
this
:
In
the
town
itself
,
actually
within
sight
of
the
house
in
which
Charlie
lived
,
there
was
an
ENORMOUS
CHOCOLATE
FACTORY
!
Just
imagine
that
!
