I have endeavoured to produce a complete series of pictures commencing with the Ice Age and finishing at the dawn of the twentieth century.  In the earlier chapters only a rough outline is possible, but as we come down the centuries and the records become more numerous and varied, fuller details can be added to the pictures of each age, and we may witness how much or how little the great series of dynastic, constitutional, religious and social changes effected a district that is typical of many others in the remoter parts of England.

[Illustration:  Pickering from the North-West.]

Built on sloping ground that rises gently from the rich, level pastures of the Vale of Pickering, the town has a picturesque and pleasant site.  At the top of the market-place where the ground becomes much steeper stands the church, its grey bulk dominating every view.  From all over the Vale one can see the tall spire, and from due east or west it has a surprising way of peeping over the hill tops.  It has even been suggested that the tower and spire have been a landmark for a very long time, owing to the fact that where the hills and formation of the ground do not obstruct the view, or make road-making difficult, the roads make straight for the spire.

With few exceptions the walls of the houses are of the same weather-beaten limestone as the church and the castle, but seen from above the whole town is transformed into a blaze of red, the curved tiles of the locality retaining their brilliant hue for an indefinite period.  Only a very few thatched roofs remain to-day, but the older folks remember when most of the houses were covered in that picturesque fashion.

Pickering has thus lost its original uniform greyness, relieved here and there by whitewash, and presents strong contrasts of colour against the green meadows and the masses of trees that crown the hill where the castle stands.  The ruins, now battered and ivy-mantled, are dignified and picturesque and still sufficiently complete to convey a clear impression of the former character of the fortress, three of the towers at angles of the outer walls having still an imposing aspect.  The grassy mounds and shattered walls of the interior would, however, be scarcely recognisable to the shade of Richard ii. if he were ever to visit the scene of his imprisonment.

Since the time of Henry viii. when Leland described the castle, whole towers and all the interior buildings except the chapel have disappeared.  The chief disasters probably happened before the Civil War, although we are told, by one or two eighteenth century writers, as an instance of the destruction that was wrought, that after the Parliamentary forces had occupied the place and “breached the walls,” great quantities of papers and parchments were scattered about Castle-gate, the children being attracted to pick them up, many of them bearing gilt letters.  During the century which has just closed, more damage was done to the buildings and in a short time all the wooden floors in the towers completely disappeared.