My husband is from the Deep South. Of England. (And loves grits, btw.)
For several years during adolescence, he spent his summers on his great uncle's dairy farm in Cornwall. He has fond memories of breakfasts on that farm, in probably the mid to late 1960s. His aunt would go out with a pitcher and scoop ice cold milk fresh from the chiller. Cream would go in a pan which sat continually on one of the back burners of her huge Aga stove. There were always huge pots of clotted cream on the table. Thick and bright yellow, it was absolutely fabulous, and his great aunt made it by the half-gallon. She made breakfast for all the farmhands and family (about 10 guys), served on a huge ancient farm table, which probably would have been considered an antique if it wasn't so beat up. A traditional full English breakfast, which consisted of bacon, fried eggs, homemade sausages, fried bread, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms (all in bacon fat), tea, cornflakes, rice crispies or Weetabix (the only cereals available) with fresh milk straight from the chiller (virtually yellow) or clotted cream, and rack upon rack of toast.
Ahh. I can feel my arteries slamming shut just thinking about it. But it sounds so nice. Hubby wants an Aga stove now.