‘Of course I sailed on her, my darling . . . we all sailed on her . . .’
‘Where from? Where to?’ Charlie went on eagerly.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t tell you that . . . I was just a tiny little girl . . .’ She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Charlie watched her, waiting for something more. Everybody waited. No one moved.
‘. . . It had a lovely name, that ship . . . there was something beautiful . . . something so beautiful about that name . . . but of course I couldn’t possibly remember it . . .’
Charlie, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, suddenly jumped up. His face was shining with excitement. ‘If I said the name, Grandma, would you remember it then?’
‘I might, Charlie . . . yes . . . I think I might . . .’
‘THE MAYFLOWER!’ cried Charlie.
The old woman’s head jerked up off the pillow. ‘That’s it!’ she croaked. ‘You’ve got it, Charlie! The Mayflower . . . Such a lovely name . . .’
‘Grandpa!’ Charlie called out, dancing with excitement. ‘What year did the Mayflower sail for America?’
‘The Mayflower sailed out of Plymouth Harbour on September the sixth, sixteen hundred and twenty,’ said Grandpa Joe.
‘Plymouth . . .’ croaked the old woman. ‘That rings a bell, too . . . Yes, it might easily have been Plymouth . . .’
‘Sixteen hundred and twenty!’ cried Charlie. ‘Oh, my heavens above! That means you’re . . . you do it, Grandpa!’
‘Well now,’ said Grandpa Joe. ‘Take sixteen hundred and twenty away from nineteen hundred and seventy-two . . . that leaves . . . don’t rush me now, Charlie . . . That leaves three hundred . . . and . . . and fifty-two.’
‘Jumping jackrabbits!’ yelled Mr Bucket. ‘She’s three hundred and fifty-two years old!’
‘She’s more,’ said Charlie. ‘How old did you say you were, Grandma, when you sailed on the Mayflower? Were you about eight?’
‘I think I was even younger than that, my darling . . . I was only a bitty little girl . . . probably no more than six . . .’
‘Then she’s three hundred and fifty-eight!’ gasped Charlie.
‘That’s Vita-Wonk for you,’ said Mr Wonka proudly. ‘I told you it was powerful stuff.’
‘Three hundred and fifty-eight!’ said Mr Bucket. ‘It’s unbelievable!’
‘Just imagine the things she must have seen in her lifetime!’ said Grandpa Joe.
‘My poor old mother!’ wailed Mrs Bucket. ‘What on earth . . .’
‘Patience, dear lady,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Now comes the interesting part. Bring on the Wonka-Vite!’
An Oompa-Loompa ran forward with a large bottle and gave it to Mr Wonka. He put it on the bed. ‘How young does she want to be?’ he asked.
‘Seventy-eight,’ said Mrs Bucket firmly. ‘Exactly where she was before all this nonsense started!’
‘Surely she’d like to be a bit younger than that?’ said Mr Wonka.
‘Certainly not!’ said Mrs Bucket. ‘It’s too risky!’
‘Too risky, too risky!’ croaked Grandma Georgina. ‘You’ll only Minus me again if you try to be clever!’
‘Have it your own way,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Now then, I’ve got to do a few sums.’ Another Oompa-Loompa trotted forward, holding up a blackboard. Mr Wonka took a piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote:
‘Fourteen pills of Wonka-Vite exactly,’ said Mr Wonka. The Oompa-Loompa took the blackboard away. Mr Wonka picked up the bottle from the bed and opened it and counted out fourteen of the little brilliant yellow pills. ‘Water!’ he said. Yet another Oompa-Loompa ran forward with a glass of water. Mr Wonka tipped all fourteen pills into the glass. The water bubbled and frothed. ‘Drink it while it’s fizzing,’ he said, holding the glass up to Grandma Georgina’s lips. ‘All in one gulp!’
She drank it.
Mr Wonka sprang back and took a large brass clock from his pocket. ‘Don’t forget,’ he cried, ‘it’s a year a second! She’s got two hundred and eighty years to lose! That’ll take her four minutes and forty seconds! Watch the centuries fall away!’