As visitors walk down the shaded, well maintained concrete path, startled birds rise from the undergrowth and mangroves. It's an idyllic setting, tranquil as a traditional Chinese painting.

Sheung Yiu was not always so placid. When the Hakka Wong clan settled there 150 years ago, the Guangdong coast was plagued by pirates and waterborne bandits. That's why when the Wongs moved there from the interior of Guangdong they built Sheung Yiu behind stout stone walls on a protective knoll overlooking a narrow cove.

The eight houses inside the fortified village are today faithfully restored, a treasury of the past, thanks to a deal between the Wong clan and government. The agreement was hammered out in 1980 before the lime kiln on which the village built its prosperity was declared an official monument.

In a move which should be a model for preservation of many other abandoned rural settlements, the Wongs and government historians agreed that the village would be handed over to the government which would repair it and run it as a museum.

It's a reflection of a past which may have been peaceful but was also marked by ceaseless labour.

Soon after they built the village, the Wongs founded their kiln. The raw material for the lime they processed so laboriously came from coral and shells dredged by hand from the surrounding shallows. Today, there is one solitary Wong left in the cove who remembers the last days of the lime kiln industry. Michael Wong Shu-kei, 49, lives in a sprawling house surrounded by orchards halfway between Sheung Yiu and the road into the country park.

The rest of the clan left in the 1950s and 1960s; his father worked in cafes in Bristol, in southwest England, and later opened the first Chinese restaurant in that port city. He died there earlier this year.

'It's funny,' he reflects. 'You walk arouBristol and just about every Chinese you see, I am related to. But here in the valley, I am the only one left.'

He can clearly recall the old days: 'We made mortar and fertiliser as well as lime bricks and tiles. There was an excellent market for them. There were no roads here in those days. Everything was carried on boats. We would load lime bricks and kindling and sail from here to places like Chai Wan and sell them.'

He remembers how his family toiled in nearby waters using long bamboo rakes to collect shells and coral.

The village relied almost entirely on the Lung Hang River, situated near its mouth, the clash of salt and fresh water encouraged fast coral growth.

The harvest of coral and shellfish were fired for seven days in the kiln, then cooled for 10 days. The reduced coral was sold as construction material or fertiliser.

The last kiln was built after the second world war. The lime industry collapsed totally with the introduction of imported bricks and mortar in the 1950s; the village life was doomed.

'You can understand why villagers do not particularly want to preserve the old Hakka houses,' he reflects. 'Think about how hard life used to be for my family and all the bad memories these houses have for them.

'They were not too clean. We did not even get electricity until 1977 and, running water in 1979.' By then, the villagers had left for the bright lights of Bristol.

Today, families picnic at the end of the pier where fishermen and traders used to load their goods. Hikers young and old come down the well-worn path to the Sheung Yiu Folk Museum; hundreds may visit on a busy Sunday to catch a glimpse of how villagers used to live.

Most walk past Michael Wong's house, not knowing he is the last of the clan in Hong Kong.

'Through talks with my father, I understand why people left,' he says. 'He was part of the Japanese resistance force during the occupation. Times were hard after the war and the money was just not good enough. The lime trade was dying and in the 1960s he left to go to Bristol. When he opened his restaurant there, relatives followed.'

Why did Michael Wong stay behind? As he sits in his garden, reading a newspaper, sipping a cup of tea under the fruit trees and listening to the quiet flow of the river, the peace of the place provides an easy answer.

'This house used to be a meeting place for villagers walking to and from Sai Kung, a place to stop off for a cup of tea, do some trading or have a bit of a chat,' he explains.

'Everyone who walked to the old path had to come through this house.'

Today they skirt it on the way to the museum. Behind the door into Sheung Yiu, inside the fortified walls behind the tall watchtower, are memories of a life that has gone forever.

In the nine galleries are farming implements, village period furniture and other objects used by the Hakka farmers and workers.

The lime kiln has been restored. The 420 square metres of exhibition space hold 164 exhibits including such humble items as pig pens, rice mills and kitchen implements.

Visiting the museum with Mr Wong takes him back to his boyhood.' That's my uncle!' he exclaims, pointing to one of the many photos on display. 'Those two ladies have died already,' he explains, pointing to another photo.

The free museum still breathes life. That's in stark contrast to many other abandoned villages further along the path where old stone houses have crumbled into dust under the typhoon rains and inexorable advance of destructive vegetation.

There may be no people left in Sheung Yiu, but it lives on.