RP (British Accent) Audiobook Sample
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
the mysterious life of birds who never come Down. Written by Helen McDonald, read by Helena Miller, I found a dead common swift ones husk of a bird under a bridge over the River Thames. The sunlight from the water cussed, bright, scribbled on the arches above. I picked it up, held it in my poem. So the dust in its feathers it's win cross legged old blades. It's always tightly closed and realised that I didn't know what to do. This was a surprise. Encouraged by books had always been the type of Gothic amateur naturalist who preserved interesting bits of the dead. I cleaned and polished fox schools, disarticulated dried and kept the wings of road kill birds. But I knew looking at the swift, but I could not do anything like that to it. The bird was suffused with a kind of seriousness very akin to holiness. I didn't want to leave it there, so I took it home, swirled it in a towel and tucked it in the freezer. It was in early May, the next year, as soon as I saw the first returning slips going down from the clouds, but I knew what I had to do. I went to the freezer, took up the swift and buried it in the garden, one hands with deep in earth, newly warmed by the sun. It's a magical in the manner of all things that exist just a little beyond understanding. Once they were called the Devil's Bird. Perhaps because they're screaming, flocks of black crosses around churches seemed pulled from darkness, not light. But to me, they are creatures of the upper air and of the nature unintelligible, which makes them more akin to angels. Unlike all other birds I knew as a child they never descended to the ground. When I was young, I was frustrated that there was no way for me to know them better. There was so fast that it was impossible to focus on their facial expressions. Watch them preen through binoculars. They were only of a flickering silhouettes 30 40 50 miles an hour, a shoal of birds, a poor in chief of identical black grains against bright clouds. There was no way to tell one bird from another not to watch them do anything other than move from place to place. All those, sometimes if the sweats were flying low over rooftops I'd see when opened its mouth on. That was truly uncanny because the gate was huge, turning the bird into something uncomfortably like a miniature basking shark. Even so, watching them with the naked eye was rewarding, and hold revealed the dynamism off. What before was merely blankness. So sway about 1.5 answers, and they're surfing and talking against the pressure of oncoming air make visible the moving of the atmosphere.