CARAD challenged the local community to write a book in 24 hours, the result was 'Time' a book consisting of 115 stories, 140 poems and 70 illustrations! Here is the article written by Bryan Lawrence.

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"Whenever I want to escape from the pressure of work, the responsibilities of family life, to plan the future, reminisce about the past or just divorce myself from the realities of the present, I retreat to the Cwmdauddwr hills. To me these hills are timeless, endless, never changing: as if the ages had passed them by.

I often wish that I could go back through the centuries and travel these hills in the company of my predecessors. I have discovered that I don't need a Tardis to go back in time; that I can, with a bit of research, put some flesh on the bones of history. The clues are all around me just waiting to be interpreted.

The oblong enclosure on Esgair Perfedd is the remains of a Roman Marching camp. Did Roman soldiers over a thousand years ago, whilst resting overnight here on their way to the lead mines of Cardiganshire, dream of their loved ones and homes in sunnier climes?

What has happened to the soldiers, who a thousand years later came to these hills to practice manoeuvres in readiness for the First World War and who left their mark on the surrounding hills? Their initials are carved in the rocks on Penrhiw-wen but their bodies are most likely buried in some remote cemetery near the Somme, Ypres or Passchendale battlefields. Local tradition has it that one battalion left the green hills of Cwmddaudwr to be virtually wiped out in their first engagement on a battle field on the Western front. Was this the fate of T.G., R.H. and B.T. of the R.G A. who carved their initials some 75 years ago on this remote hill top?

The remains of the shells they fired and the craters they caused can still be seen on Esgair Cywion. Their huge guns firing shells weighing some 280 lbs over several miles on these hills must have put the fear of God into man and beast alike. This area occupies a small place in military history as the place where the first artillery shoot directed from an aeroplane took place.

The Great War was supposed to be the war to end all wars, but man has a short memory and never learns from history or from the mistakes of the past. In just over thirty years these hills resounded once more to the sounds of another generation of soldiers: perhaps better equipped, perhaps better prepared, but still having to fight to right the mistakes of politicians. Once more the roads over the hills were guarded by men in uniform, once more the hills resounded to the roar of guns, once more the hill farmers were moved from their ancient homesteads so that soldiers could practice war games.

If one knows where to look, reminders of their time in and around the Elan Valley still survive.The foundations of the Home Guard camp by the Foel Tower: the pill boxes near Nantgwyllt and Y Foel; the dam that Barnes Wallis blew up during the testing of the bombs that were used by the Dambusters to breach the Mohne and Eder dams in Germany. But there are other battles that have been fought on these hills.

The battle of small farmers to survive in an inhospitable climate and on unproductive soil. Large families to feed with very little food to feed them. They fought a long and hard battle against an unforgiving enemy and inevitably they lost. Their often unmarked graves are in nearby graveyards and the lone tree marking the site of a long "gone down" tyddyn mocks their fruitless efforts. Gone, they may be, but not forgotten.

Sometimes my ruminations about the past are interrupted by the reality of the present when my reveries are disturbed by the roar of engines and the glimpse of aircraft hugging the contours of the hills as they practise evading enemy radar in these peaceful surroundings.

The glowing sun setting over the western horizon reminds me that it is a time to forget the past and drag myself into the present. There is still the walk back home to Rhayader through the gathering dusk but I know time will again stand still when I enter the Triangle Inn for a well-earned pint."
Written by Bryan Lawrence from Rhayader