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.