Orr's Kentish Journal, 1 February 1862.

POLICE INTELLIGENCE.

Sarah Friend, 22, Giffin-street, Deptford, was charged with being drunk and breaking a square of glass value 15s., at the house of Thomas Stocks, "King’s Arms," Church-street, Deptford.

4s. or ten days.

Orr's Kentish Journal, 4 October 1862.

A man named Groom was brought up on Monday on a charge of stealing a hen, the property of Mr. Stocks, "Kings’ Arms," Church-street, Deptford, and was committed for 21 days.

Account found on www.Olddeptfordhistory.com accessed 2025.

The "Kings Arms" was already listed in 19th-century trade directories, serving dock workers, shipwrights, and market folk near the bustling Thames. By all accounts, it was a classic local—a solid bit of Victorian brickwork, all dark wood, tiled floors, and low amber lighting in the evenings.

According to local lore, the ghost that haunts the "Kings Arms" is none other than a former landlord, a man who ran the place with a firm hand and a watchful eye. Nobody remembers precisely when he lived—and no official record has tied a name to the legend—but the story goes like this:

When a new landlord took over, the old spirit was not pleased.

Staff began noticing odd happenings. A pint left on the bar might suddenly tip over—or, more eerily, slide as if nudged by invisible hands. The dumb waiter, unused for years, would rattle or groan in the still of night. And then there was the bell.

It’s said the pub's old service bell—long disconnected from anything practical—would sometimes ring on its own. Quiet evenings would be punctuated by that sharp, metallic chime, echoing down the hallway like a call from another time.

One of the best-known anecdotes repeats itself in pub folklore columns: one night, a glass slid clear off the counter and shattered on the floor. A barmaid swore no one had touched it. Another witness—a regular— claimed to have seen it "flicked’’ into the air.