Roald Dahl

Hello there. My name is Roald Dahl, and I am a storyteller. You might know me from my books about a giant peach, a friendly giant, or a marvelous chocolate factory. My own story began on September 13th, 1916, in a part of Great Britain called Wales. My parents, Harald and Sofie, were from Norway, so our home was filled with wonderful Norwegian tales. My mother was the best storyteller, and I would listen for hours as she told me about trolls and mythical creatures from her homeland. Besides stories, my greatest love was for sweets, especially chocolate. I would stare at the candy jars in the sweet-shop, dreaming of inventing a new candy that would amaze the world. My childhood had some deep sadness, though. When I was only three, my older sister Astri died, and just a few weeks later, my father passed away, heartbroken. My mother, in her incredible strength, chose to stay in Britain to give the rest of us children the best education. At boarding school, I was quite mischievous. But something amazing happened there. A big chocolate company would sometimes send boxes of new chocolate bars to my school for us boys to test. It was my job to taste them and give my opinion. As I crunched on those new inventions, a tiny seed of an idea was planted in my mind—an idea for a magical chocolate factory.

After I finished school, I didn't want to go to a university. I craved adventure. I wanted to see the world. So, I got a job with an oil company, and they sent me all the way to Africa. It was a thrilling time, full of new sights and sounds. But in 1939, a great shadow fell over the world: World War II began. I knew I couldn't just stand by; I had to do something to help. I decided to join the Royal Air Force and become a fighter pilot. Learning to fly a plane was both terrifying and exhilarating. I felt like I was soaring with the birds. But my time as a pilot was cut short by a terrible accident. On September 19th, 1940, while flying over the desert in a country called Libya, my plane ran out of fuel and crashed. I was badly injured, but I was alive. Surviving that crash changed me. It made me realize how precious life is. While I was recovering, I was asked to write about my experience, and that is how, quite by accident, I became a writer.

At first, I wrote stories for grown-ups, many of them based on my adventures during the war. But the real magic began when I had children of my own. Every night, I would make up bedtime stories for them, stories filled with wild characters and fantastical events. My children were my first audience, and if they started to get bored, I knew the story wasn't good enough. These bedtime tales grew into my books. A story about a boy and some magical crocodile tongues became 'James and the Giant Peach,' which was published in 1961. And that old memory of tasting chocolates at school? That became 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,' which came out in 1964. To write these stories, I had a very special place: a small brick hut in my garden. Inside, I had an old, comfy armchair that belonged to my grandfather. I would sit there, put a writing board on my lap, and write everything by hand with a sharp yellow pencil on yellow paper. It was in that little hut that I met so many of my best friends: the BFG, Matilda, Danny the Champion of the World, and so many others.

Looking back, I always believed that children deserved stories that were exciting, a little bit frightening, and very, very funny. I didn't like writing about boring, ordinary people. I wanted my stories to be about heroes, and very often, the heroes were clever children who managed to outsmart the grumpy, nasty grown-ups. My life came to an end on November 23rd, 1990, but my greatest hope was that my characters and my stories would live on forever, continuing to bring a little bit of magic into the world. I hope they remind you that the world is full of wonder if you just keep your eyes open. And remember, the greatest magic of all can always be found between the pages of a book.