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Norfolk... east of England

Back in the days when British parents still considered Humphrey a flattering name for their male offspring, there lived a man named Humphrey Repton.

Back in the days when British parents still considered Humphrey a flattering name for their male offspring, there lived a man named Humphrey Repton. In a nation known for its beautiful gardens and keen gardeners, Repton was the grandfather of all greenthumbs, employed by landowners across the country to transform acreage into landscape architecture.

Repton would assess a property's potential in a "Red Book." After half a century and more than 400 professional consultations, he produced his largest Red Book for the owner of a windswept estate near Sheringham on England's north Norfolk coast. In June 1812, after five days spent surveying the estate, Repton was smitten, calling Sheringham "my favourite and darling child..."

"... I can with truth pronounce that Sheringham possesses more natural beauty and local advantages than any place I have ever seen," wrote Repton.

Those not privy to the contents of Repton's Red Book might have been dubious of such outpourings over what was a rugged, rather bleak, undulating landscape of gorse and broom.

My family were equally dubious when I booked a restored barn in Sheringham Park as the venue for a week-long reunion. Before foreign travel became affordable to the average middle class family from South London, Mr. and Mrs. Judd would take their three boys down the motorway to Margate in Kent or on a sweaty six-hour hell ride to Cornwall in Britain's west country.

For some reason, a holiday that involved crossing the River Thames was not an option. Despite being less than three hours drive northeast of London, the Judds had yet to set foot in Norfolk, whose coastline conjured up heady images of fresh crab and even fresher northeast winds.

My task was to arrange a holiday for 12, pleasing grandchildren as young as two and grandparents as old as 70, with tastes as varied as the ages in between. Sandy beaches, funky shops, boat-trip potential, a decent pub within walking distance and the small matter of a Thomas the Tank Engine experience were on the list of demands to be catered for.

Repton had it easy.

Situated on a working farm on the edge of Sheringham Park, with unobstructed views of the North Sea, Cart Lodge Barns are 300-year-old farm buildings, tastefully restored into holiday homes by the National Trust. The conservation and heritage charity bought the property in 1986 when the farm was mostly unused and in disrepair, its traditional barns unsuited to modern farming methods.

Volunteers undertake most of the restoration work, while revenues generated by holiday visitors are ploughed back into renovations. People aren't the only visitors. Barn owls and pipistrelle bats continue to nest and roost in the barns, and swallows frequent other nooks found in smaller sheds.

This far off the beaten track, only the toot, toot of the North Norfolk Steam Railway interrupts the hum of bees and birdsong. The daily service between Sheringham and Holt cuts a smokey black swath through the fields of brilliant yellow rape seed. The 10-and-a-half mile round-trip to Holt via Weybourne and Kelling Heath runs along the cliffs through primroses, bluebells and yellow gorse. A sea of poppies and mauve heathers compete for attention later in summer, along with fulmars – seafaring birds related to the albatross.

At Sheringham station, brassy adverts for Bovril and Spillers dog food conjure up a bygone era, as do the battered leather-bound suitcases on the platform, with owners' names and destinations faded over time. On board, a uniformed Travelling Ticket Inspector roams the carriages taken from the old Midland and Great Northern Joint Railway.

At journey's end, a privately owned horse-drawn bus, the Holt Flyer, ferries passengers the mile from the station to the Georgian town of Holt. Souvenir shops at both stations ensure parents of Thomas the Tank Engine fans won't just get fleeced for ice creams.

We found the boat trip we'd been looking for at the tiny village of Morston, where the Anchor Pub was advertising trips to see the seals at Blakeney Point. Jim Temple, whose family has run the pub for over a century, takes passengers on his 50-seater boat to the three-mile sand and shingle spit, which has been owned by the National Trust since 1912.

If you want to make a four-year-old laugh, show him a 500-pound grey seal scratching itself. Actually, we all laughed. About 400 greys and common seals colonize Blakeney Point and two-dozen were basking on the beach as Jim circled the boat for people like me to waste a roll of film trying to snap the seal with the itch.

A 30-minute stop on the Point revealed an extraterrestrial landscape of salt marshes, sand dunes and shingle banks. Marram grass grows on the dunes, apparently fertilized by bird droppings. After wintering south of the Sahara, common, sandwich and Arctic terns nest here on little more than indents in the sand. When they're not pooping on the dunes the birds are laying eggs, most of which are elaborately cordoned off with rope for public viewing.

The seals are definitely funnier.

Not content with rail and sail, we hired bikes in the nearby town of Reepham and cycled the disused rail bed, which connects with the cathedral city of Norwich nine miles away. And in the interests of a well rounded holiday, we sought out numerous pubs for lunch, all of which catered to children. How civilized!

At the Wheatsheaf Arms in West Beckham my brother Keith became a minor celebrity after the locals thought he had drunk three pints of Woodforde's Headcracker, a raunchy local beer which at seven per cent alcohol, is accompanied by a health warning. (He'd actually downed two – I think the locals had drunk more.)

For all our outdoor pursuits, evenings spent sitting outside the barns on picnic tables, taking turns to cook dinner, proved to be the most memorable moments of our trip, together with early mornings walking in the park.

Amid Sheringham park's mature woodland, some of the beech trees planted by Repton and 18th century farm owner Cook Flower, whose initials are still visible in the main barn, are succumbing to fungal attack. But from mid-May to June, the profusion of rhododendron and azaleas are as spectacular as you would see anywhere.

Some varieties, such as the rhododendron arboreum, grow up to 30 feet. From a viewing tower, visitors can get above the canopy of red, pink, white and mauve blooms, which slope seaward through meadows of cowslips and long grass. Up here, Humphrey Repton's vision looks grand indeed.

What’s it cost?

Cart Lodge Barns comprise four separate units, sleeping from two to six people. A unit sleeping six people ranges from Cdn$453 (£211) a week during winter to Cdn$1,324 (£616) a week during summer. For a unit sleeping two people, the cost ranges from Cdn$378 (£176) a week to Cdn$901 (£419).

Last year, the National Trust earned more than £1 million toward its heritage conservation and acquisition work through its holiday homes across Britain. Converted churches, castles and lighthouses are among the Trust's rental properties.

For more details, visit the National Trust Web site at www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/ or call 011 44 1225 791199.