English, Hindno industry experience, ethnic female voice, higher pitch
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
So far from the bamboo grove by Yoko Kawashima Watkins one. It was almost midnight on July 29 1945. When my mother, my elder sister, Cole and I carrying as many of our belongings as we could on our backs, fled our home in its bamboo grove. Our friends and our town in Northern Korea. Forever In darkness. Mother checked windows and doors. I was 11 core 16. I was very tired and my head was so dizzy. I did not know which way I was heading. The cool night air swept my face. Still, my head was not clear. I saw a mother closed the main entrance and lock it. Now give me a wrist. Little one she commanded in a low voice. I was called little one by my parents and co but my older brother Hideo always teasing, called me noisy one because I often screamed when I was teased and when we frolicked in the house, my wrist, I hadn't had a night's sleep in two weeks because of the air raids. My head was very hazy hurry. Mother found my wrist in the darkness. She was tying a rope to it. So I won't lose you. Time caused wrist. She asked her voice full of worry. You did leave a note for your father. Yes. Mother, I left a note for Hideo. Said mother. Oh, I hope he finds it and joins us. He can get in through his window. Now. Remember no one knows we are leaving no matter what. Until we reach the train station. Be silent. Understand. Yes. Cosette again. I wanted to cry though. We lived in Northeastern Korea, Beaver Japanese, my country Japan which I had never seen had been fighting America and Britain for four years because father was a Japanese government official working in Manchuria. I had grown up in this ancient town. We were 50 miles from the Manchurian border and we were so close to the Russian ports, Vladivostok and Nakhodka across the sea from our harbor. Father came home by train as often as he could. The shadow of war had been creeping across our peaceful village for months. The most horrible shock had come some weeks before mother and I were alone and I was practicing my brush writing before going to my teacher's house for a calligraphy lesson. Calligraphy is dipped is dipping a fat or thin brush in India ink and writing in script or in the square style of Chinese characters.