Sitting in a cafe in the little town of Lobbes, having just consumed a tasty, if tough steak, with potatoes, followed by a glass of quite good beer, and a fairish cigar.
Last night visited a suburban cafe, obtaining watery beer and a strange plate of potatoes and beans with a piece of bread; charge is 15 centimes – about 7d. This morning, a half-holiday, most of the men have gone off in the hopes of reaching Charleroi, clambering all over and on top of the electric trams, like flies in a jam pot. I chose the nearer place. Spent the afternoon visiting the strangely designed, austerely embellished church, built of irregular fragments of reddish and grey stone, and having one sharp pointed spire almost in the middle of the roof, and a square tower at one end, as you will see from the crayon sketch.
I should say, from the old effigies of Knights etc. in the crypt, that it is of pretty early date. Near to the doors were, to us, amusing notices in French importuning the ladies not to wear garments too short or too tight to church.
[Image: Sketch in crayon by Lincoln Lee, Lobbes, likely 6 December 1918]
[Image: Photograph of Lobbes today, showing church from a different angle]