Roald Dahl

Hello there. My name is Roald Dahl, and I was a writer of fantastically fizz-whizzing stories for children just like you. I was born on a lovely day, September 13th, 1916, in a country called Wales. When I was a boy, two things made my heart leap with joy: grand adventures and delicious sweets. I especially loved chocolate. Can you imagine getting to taste-test chocolate for a job. Well, when I was at school, a famous chocolate company would send boxes of new chocolate bars for us students to try. We would nibble on each one and write down what we thought. It was the best homework ever. As I munched, my imagination would start to bubble like a pot of warm caramel. I would dream of secret inventing rooms and rivers made of chocolate. I thought to myself, 'One day, I'm going to write a story about this.'. That tiny idea, like a little seed, was planted in my mind and would one day grow into a scrumdiddlyumptious tale that many of you might know.

When I finished school, I didn't want to sit in more classrooms. My feet were itching for adventure. I wanted to see the big, wide world. So, I packed my bags and traveled all the way to a faraway place called Africa to work for an oil company. I saw amazing animals like giraffes and lions and learned about different ways of life. But soon, a big war, World War II, began, and I knew I had to help. I joined the Royal Air Force and learned to be a fighter pilot. Flying a plane was the most thrilling thing I had ever done. I soared through the clouds like a giant bird, twisting and turning in the big blue sky. It was a true adventure. But one day, I had a very bad crash, a big bump that meant my time as a pilot was over. I was sad I couldn't fly anymore, but this bump put me on a new path, leading me to my greatest adventure of all: writing stories.

After my flying days were done, all the stories that had been buzzing around in my head needed a place to go. So, I found a little brick hut in my garden, put a cozy chair inside, and began to write. That hut became my magical workshop. I would sit there every day with a pencil and a yellow notepad, letting my imagination run wild. In 1961, I wrote a story about a boy who travels across the ocean in a giant peach called 'James and the Giant Peach'. A few years later, in 1964, I remembered my school days of tasting chocolate and wrote 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory'. I loved creating silly words and giant heroes and wonderfully wicked villains. I filled my books with magic, mischief, and heart. I passed away on November 23rd, 1990, but my stories didn't. They live on in libraries and on bookshelves, waiting to take you on an adventure and remind you that if you believe in yourself, you can make a little magic happen in the world, too.