Welcome back to the home of the oxymoron. Evil genius. He asked the newspaper to print his obituary early so he'd enjoy it. That's like hiding at your own funeral. Yeah, it's a big, great gig. I'm Russell Kane. Join me to weigh in on whether the biggest players in history are more evil or genius. Becoming that rich, I'd say that at some level of genius. It also helps that it's a long time ago, right?

It's like the podcast version of telling your kids the ice cream van plays music

when it's out of ice cream.

Listen to evil genius on BBC Sounds.

I have tried to paint trees as though they were human beings

because I sincerely love and worship trees

and know they are people and wonderfully beautiful people.

The British war artist Paul Nash speaking in 1912.

In trees he already had his subject,

but it would be another five years before he found his theme,

through his brief but formative acquaintance with trench warfare in northern France.

Trees, dead and alive, are central to the way we remember the battles of World War I,

and to the way we choose to commemorate those who fell in that conflict or were changed forever.

And their place in that war's iconography, indeed the role of wood in waging war,

is the subject of tonight's free thinking.

Let's begin with the voices of those who were there.

I never lost this tree sense.

To me half the war is a memory of trees. Fallen and tortured trees,

trees untouched in summer moonlight, torn and shattered winter trees, trees green and brown, grey and white,

living and dead. They gave their names to roads and trenches,

strong points and areas.

Beneath their branches, I found the best and the worst of the war.

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