St Nicholas’ Church stands close to the Thames in old Deptford, in an area which was once one of England’s busiest shipbuilding districts. From a distance it looks like a quiet parish church, but at the gate the tone shifts sharply. Set into the stone posts are two carved skull and crossbones: hollow-eyed, weathered, and unflinching, greeting every visitor with a blunt reminder of mortality. They are among London’s most arresting memento mori, rooted not in piracy, but in the everyday dangers of a riverside community shaped by sea, sickness, and loss.

Despite popular myth, the carvings have no direct link to the Jolly Roger. Deptford’s maritime history certainly includes figures such as Sir Francis Drake and Captain James Cook, but these skulls predate romantic piracy lore. Dating from the 16th–17th century, they are more likely memento mori warnings and possibly associated with the church’s former charnel house (a space where bones were stored when the churchyard could no longer contain its dead).

Inside the churchyard, the atmosphere softens but never fully lifts. Gravestones tilt at uneasy angles, inscriptions dissolve into lichen and vines thread themselves through the iron railings. The church tower which is medieval in origin and later rebuilt, has overseen Deptford’s transformation from royal dockyard to wartime target to post-industrial riverside.

The church’s identity is inseparable from the Thames. Dedicated to St Nicholas, patron saint of sailors, it once served a community whose lives were bound to the river and its risks.