Stoke and Hartland Quay

We ate our packed lunches in the vestibule at the church in Stoke. This is becoming a habit as the vestibules offer shelter from the winds (nearly constant and growing each day in intensity) and also benches to sit on (because it is tiring walking everywhere.)
The cemetery in the churchyard was fascinating but sad.
Many of the headstones were for soldiers - WWI and WWII. Some were memorials only as "he lies where he fell on a battlefield far from home".
Many other headstones were for influenza victims - 1918 - young children from 2 months to 7-8 years and young men and women 20-30 years.
Brought home how really isolated in our good fortune we were/are in the States.

Through woods full of bluebells we connected again with The Coast Path (and more gale winds.)

The Hartland Quay Hotel is out at the edge of a cliff in the middle of nowhere. Supposedly, it has been here in one form or another for 300 years though it is hard to imagine that anything could survive this wind and weather.
The hotel hosts a small museum that contains mostly shipwreck memorabilia because apparently many things actually didn't survive. Cool but creepy.

(Our room was only OK - torture rack bed that I was able to modify with additional comforters so that the inner springs didn't jab me in the back and I could at least try to sleep except for the New Paint Smell that I guess was in prep of the upcoming Bank Holiday which is the first one of the vacation season and the probably dog dander because the Hartland Quay Hotel takes dogs and one had probably slept in my room recently and I'm allergic that sort of gagged me all night.
Felt great in the morning - go figure.)

Creamy porridge for breakfast.

England is the country of clotted cream, cream teas, whole milk, cheese everywhere, ice cream or clotted cream with all desserts, butter standard on all sandwiches. It is true that I haven't seen many really old people and maybe that's because they all die early of clotted arteries.