THERE’S a thick fug of nostalgia inside the smithy at Beck Isle Museum.

A fire roars, irons glow against flickering flames and in the corner a model of a leather-aproned blacksmith has his back to the door.

Suddenly he moves. “Oh God,” a woman gasps, scared half out of her wits. “You’re real.”

Indeed he is. The gloriously named John Steele has been fashioning metal for most of his 85 years and these days he’s on hand at Beck Isle Museum of Rural Life in Pickering, to demonstrate the ancient art of forging.

John is one of 100 volunteers who help out at the museum and if you’ve ever driven past, assuming it contains a musty collection of old fossils, think again.

There is every conceivable thing here – from 27 displays from a Victorian grocer’s shop stuffed to the rafters with the likes of Chivers jellies and Lion pickling spices, to a gent’s outfitters, a funeral director’s stables and a barber’s shop.

There’s even a pub and the oldest daylight photographic studio in the country.

It seems everywhere in Pickering is living history and for many people the vintage North York Moors Railway takes centre stage.

It was formed in 1967 by a small band of enthusiasts who wanted to revive the historic line after Dr Beeching’s axe delivered its savage blow. Now the railway has grown to 85 full-time staff, with 50 or so parttime staff joining them during the summer months.

The trains run to Grosmont and Whitby and offer a wonderfully nostalgic trip down memory lane, even for those too young to remember the golden age of steam.

NYMR also organises the Pickering War Weekend every October, when the town is filled with thousands of people dressed as soldiers, sailors and airmen, partnered by Land Army girls in dungarees or impossibly glamorous women in vintage chic.

Even older military history towers above the station. Pickering Castle is one of the country’s finest Norman motte-and-bailey fortresses and was originally built from wood by William the Conqueror to keep out rebellious barons and marauding Scots. One hundred years later Henry II founded the stone castle, while the outer entrance, curtain wall and three towers were built on the orders of Edward II.

In medieval times Pickering was surrounded by one of the largest forests in the country, which made the castle a favoured royal hunting lodge. By the Civil War, though, it had been abandoned and left to decay.

Now the remains are cared for by English Heritage.

Pickering town centre is a bustling place with a market every Monday and thriving independent shops and coffee houses. Look out for Wrothwells the chemist in Market Place with its lovely, old-fashioned shop front.

Opposite is the Bay Horse Inn, a hostelry for Cromwellian troops during the Civil War, and four doors up the White Swan was the starting point for the England Rejoice stagecoach which scurried across the moors to Whitby.

Birdgate is similarly rich in old shops and the Black Swan Hotel was visited by Charles Dickens.

Cockfights were once held in the inn’s courtyard.

For 900 years Pickering’s skyline has been dominated by the spire of the church of St Peter and St Paul on Smiddy Hill, but you need to go inside to be really impressed. There you will find some of the most important murals in the country.

During the Middle Ages most churches had paintings on their walls but during the Reformation these masterpieces were covered by limewash.

Over the centuries the murals in Pickering were forgotten. Restoration work in 1852 revealed them once again but the vicar thought they would encourage idolatry and ordered them to be covered up again.

It took another refurbishment and another vicar to finally reveal and restore the magnificent 15th century works of art, the most striking of which is St Christopher, opposite the entrance, to greet medieval pilgrims.

But for all Pickering’s superlatives, I’ll leave you with its most trivial claim to fame. In 1994 Bernard Harland grew one of the largest known gooseberries and at 31drams 22 grains, his Yellow Woodpecker Gooseberry won first prize at the marvellously anachronistic Egton Bridge Gooseberry Fair.

Something to stash away for the next pub quiz, perhaps?