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This story has been written onto the ´óÏó´«Ã½ People’s War site by CSV Storygatherer, Martine Knight, on behalf of Lonia Dawson nee Winchester. They fully understand the terms and conditions of the site.

I was 14 when war broke out and had just left school. I first went to work in a baby’s home in Mutley Plain, but after 2 weeks the babies were evacuated to Cornwall and my father wouldn’t let me go too.
I worked temporarily in the Co-op in Millbrook and then, after a while, got a job in the laundry at Mount Edgcumbe and was there when it got bombed on March 21st 1941. It was completely destroyed.
When we got out of the building some of us made our way up to the balloon barrage over the Redoubt and got into trouble for not staying put.
From that vantage point we could see all Plymouth burning.

I can still remember the oak tree, which stood beside the laundry, and that survived the fire at Mount Edgcumbe.

My granny had just bought me two lovely sets of satin underwear, trimmed with lace, one blue, one pink. I hadn’t even worn them and they got burnt too!

After a summer job I went to work in the dockyard where I first went into the canteen and then went into welding. I worked on HMS Terrible, the last aircraft carrier to be built in Devonport. I stayed there until the end of the war.
My mother, Amy, also worked in the dockyard as a traveller driver (the overhead cranes) and today, at this VJ Day event at Mount Edgcumbe, I’ve been talking to a lady about her and mentioned that she used to work with a girl called Joan. It turned out the lady was Joan — the other traveller driver. What an amazing coincidence!

I have a poem, which was given to me some time ago by a friend, which I think is very touching and would like to share with you:-

The Poppy

The cornflower and I used to grow in the corn
A long time ago before you were born
But that was before the day of the spray
Which has virtually swept us both away
But I still appear where ‘ere blood is shed
To remind the living of those who are dead
On November 11th I still have my day
So please buy a poppy and for the dead pray
That never again may we pay such a price
And demand from so many that supreme sacrifice

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