Bronze Street 1930's

The London Magazine 1763.

Saturday 12th 1763.

The Blue Anchor a public house near the king's yard Deptford known by the name of the Red house fell entirely to the ground; there were several lodgers in it two of whom were unfortunately killed; divers were dug out of the ruins much bruised and three children who happily received no hurt

Watergate Street 1920's? but viewed from what end?

This is a great old photo. The more you look the more you see. Look at the young lad in the fore ground.... to the left, wondering what the rest of the locals are looking at. There's a street name on the left hand side...... any guesses??

Update 26th Feb. 2012.

This extract from Booths notes of London shows Rowley Street was somewhere close to Barnes Alley and I presume Queen Street.


Extract courtesy of London School of Economics and Political Science.

Carrington House, Deptford 1902



I always remember Carrington House and the doss house that use to be there. My mum use to hate walking past it. This photo taken back in 1902 shows the place before Carrington House was built in 1903 .....advertising beds...then! Middle far right you can see Deptford Broadwayin the distance. Seems like this photo was taken in the winter months. Can anyone else remember the doss house?

As it looked in the 1960'-70's

As it is now Mereton Masions.

 Update 25th Feb 2012.

I found these old photos of the interior of Carrington House taken when the building was finished in 1903.  Looks pretty state of the art accommodation.

Ghosts In Deptford 

by Cicely Fox Smith

If ghosts should walk in Deptford, as very well they may,
A man might find the night there more stirring than the day,
Might meet a Russian Tsar there, or see in Spain's despite
Queen Bess ride down to Deptford to dub Sir Francis knight.

And loitering here and yonder, and jostling to and fro,
In every street and alley the sailor-folk would go,
All colours, creeds, and nations, in fashion old and new,
If ghosts should walk in Deptford, as like enough they do.

And there'd be some with pigtails, and some with buckled shoes,
And smocks and caps like pirates that sailors once did use,
And high sea-boots and oilskins and tarry dungaree,
And shoddy suits men sold them when they came fresh from sea.

And there'd be stout old skippers and mates of mighty hand,
And Chinks and swarthy Dagoes, and Yankees lean and tanned,
And many a hairy shellback burned black from Southern skies,
And brassbound young apprentice with boyhood's eager eyes,

And by the river reaches all silver to the moon
You'd hear the shipwrights' hammers beat out a phantom tune,
The caulkers' ghostly mallets rub-dub their faint tattoo —
If ghosts should walk in Deptford, as very like they do.

If ghosts should walk in Deptford, and ships return once more
To every well-known mooring and old familiar shore,
A sight it were to see there, of all fine sights there be,
The shadowy ships of Deptford come crowding in from sea.

Cog, carrack, buss and dromond — pink, pinnace, snake and snow —
Queer rigs of antique fashion that vanished long ago,
With tall and towering fo'c'sles and curving carven prows,
And gilded great poop lanterns, and scrolled and swelling bows.

The Baltic barque that foundered in last month’s North Sea gales,
And last year's lost Cape Horner on her sails,
Black tramp and stately liner should lie there side by side
Ay, all should berth together upon that silent tide.

In dock and pond and basin so close the keels should lie
Their hulls should hide the water, their masts make dark the sky,
And through their tangled rigging the netted stars should gleam
Like gold and silver fishes from some celestial stream.

And all their quivering royals and all their singing spars
Should send a ghostly music a-shivering to the stars —
A sound like Norway forests when wintry winds are high,
Or old dead seamen's shanties from great old days gone by, —

Till eastward over Limehouse, on river, dock and slum,
All shot with pearl and crimson the London dawn should come,
And fast at flash of sunrise, and swift at break of day,
The shadowy ships of Deptford should melt like mist away.

Cicely Fox Smith (1 February 1882—8 April 1954) was an English poet and writer. Born in Lymm, Cheshire and educated at Manchester High School for Girls she briefly lived in Canada, before returning to the United Kingdom shortly before the outbreak of World War 1. She settled in Hampshire and began writing poetry, often with a nautical theme. Smith wrote over 600 poems in her life, for a wide range of publications. In later life, she expanded her writing to a number of subjects, fiction and non-fiction. For her services to literature, the British Government awarded her a small pension. (Courtesy of Wikepedia)

Inquest held at the Kings Head Pub Church Street.

West side of Watergate Street, Deptford 1903

I think the pub at right center is the Bull & Butcher, 97 Watergate Street, Deptford ?

No. 17 Watergate Street, Deptford.

I found this old photo of No. 17 Watergate Street. Taking a closer look at the door bracket carvings, scroll work and cherubs, one cant help but notice the similarity to the surviving original door brackets in Albury Street.