The memory of MAGIC

Clare wanted to share a little enchantment - but could she ever recapture it?

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Some places have the pull of an invisible magnet.

Here on the windswept Norfolk coast, the sand dunes are topped with marram grass. Today, I've got four-year-old Cassie with me. When she reaches to pick some of the grass, I say, 'No, sweetie, leave it.'

'Why, Granny?'

'The grass growing on top stops the sand from blowing away. And birds and insects live in it.' I imagine. I'm a bit hazy on that.

Tom told me about marram grass the first time we came to this fishing village on holiday. That was before we had the kids.

Then, once we had Stevie and Ange, we visited as a family, the memories enriched and added to.

We'd come every summer and meet the same inhabitants, like Mrs Jellicoe, who still runs the fish and chip shop, and Morgan, who showed the kids the catch in his lobster pots (instrumental in Ange becoming vegetarian, I'd hazard).

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Our favourite stop was Belben's Bazaar, a dark curiosity shop full of all things wondrous and, well, bizarre, like pieces of scrimshaw and corn dollies in nautical outfits. The kids loved it.

But most of all they loved the elephant tombola. This was in a glass case in a little kiosk attached to the front window of Belben's. It had a circular track that disappeared into a polystyrene tunnel and emerged on the other side. You put money into a slot on the kiosk and a little elephant (we all called her Nellie) trundled down the track, vanished into the tunnel and emerged on the other side with a stripy box in her pannier. She'd tilt and drop the box down a chute to eagerly waiting hands. The really fun bit was wondering what was inside the box - a tiny mirror? A tin whistle? Cap gun caps? Tom and I discovered Nellie on our first visit, always delighted with whatever the box contained. We weren't the only giggling adults, either. Everyone fell for Nellie's charm.