I’m mighty thankful I’ve left France — I never want to see it again. This last trip over has put the tin hat on it. To see the land half cultivated & people coming back to where their homes were is too much for my make up. You’ll never know dear anything of what it means. I’m going to paint a picture of it, but heavens, it can’t say a thousandth part of a story. We’d be healthier to forget, & that we never can. We are forever tainted with its abortiveness & its cruel drama — and for the life of me I don’t know how that can help progression. It is foul and smelly — and heartbreaking. Sometimes I could weep my eyes out when I get despondent… To be normal, to be as those silly cows & sheep that do naught but graze & die, well, it’s forgetfulness.
F.H. Varley, as written in a letter to his wife Maud, about his painting ‘For What?’, 1919