Narration of childrens book
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
AustralianTranscript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
the snow began very suddenly. One morning, Justus Charlie Bucket was getting dressed for school. Standing by the window, he sold a huge flakes drifting slowly down out of an icy sky that was the colour of steel. By evening, it lay four feet deep around his tiny house, and Mr Bucket had to dig up off from the front door to the road. After this, no, they came a freezing gale that blew for days and days without stopping. And oh, how bitter cold it wass. Everything that Charlie seemed to be touching was made of ice, and each time he stepped outside the door, the wind was like a knife on his cheek. Inside the house, little jets of freezing air came rushing in through the sides, off the windows and under the doors, and there was no place to go to escape them. Nobody in the family gave a thought to anything except the two vital problems of trying to keep warm and trying to get enough to eat. There's something about very cold weather that gives one an enormous appetite. Most of us find ourselves beginning to crepe rich, steamy stews and hot apple pies and all kinds of delicious warming meals. And because we are all a great deal lucky than we realise, we usually get what we want. Or me or not. Charlie Bucket never got what he wanted because the family couldn't afford it. And as the cold weather went on and on, he became ravenously and desperately hungry. Then, all at once, the meals became even thinner. The reason for this was that the toothpaste factory, the place where Mr Bucket work suddenly went bust and had to close down quickly. Mr. Bucket tried to get another job, but he had no luck. In the end, the only way in which he managed to earn a few pennies was by shovelling snow in the streets. But Charlie and his parents, who also lived with Charlie's full grand parents and these few pennies, weren't enough to even buy 1/4 off the food that seven people needed. The situation became desperate. Breakfast was a single slice of bread for each person, and lunch became half a boiled potato. Slowly but surely, everybody in the house began to stop every day. Little Charlie, trudging through the snow on his way to school, would have to pass Mr Willy Wonka's China chocolate Factory, and every day as he came near to it, you would lift his small, pointy nose in the air and sniff the wonderful sweet smell of melting chocolate. Sometimes he would stand motionless outside the gates for several minutes on it, taking deeps falling breaths as he was trying to eat the smell. It. So that child, said Grandpa Joe Hurricane, his head up from under the blank one icy morning. That child has got to go have more food. It doesn't matter about us. We're too old, by the way. But a growing boy, you can't go on like this. He's beginning to look like a skeleton. What can one do, ma'am it? Grandpa Josephine miserably. He refuses to take any of Oz. I hit. His mother tried to slip her own piece of bread on his plate at breakfast this morning, but he wouldn't touch it. He made her take it back. He's a fine little fellow, said Grandpa George. He deserves better than this. The cruel weather went on and on, and every day Charlie Bucket grew thinner and thinner. His face became frighteningly white and pinched the skin was drawn, sir, tightly over the cheeks that you could see the shapes of the burns underneath. It seemed doubtful whether he could go on much longer like this without becoming dangerously ill.