Upon realising her teaching career was now toast,
Miss Trunchbull fled to hiding on the west coast.
Exhausting her bloodthirsty pursuits,
And giving up her love of chocolate for fruits,
Agatha hit meltdown.
Reaching rock bottom, she purchased a van,
An unWormwoodised contraption,
Not a tin can.
And converted this to a “Whippystick”.
Full of ice creams, lollies, cones and flavours to lick.
All kinds of sundaes were sold to the brats,
From the Chokey-choc-sizzle, Trunchcrunch and those with gamp hats.
Was she the new Child Catcher? Who is to tell?
Had she risen to Heaven or descended to Hell?