My story.

Some time ago, before I was as experienced with watches as I am now, I wanted to buy a "trench watch". Not having a lot of money at the time, nor knowing where else to buy, I bought one from eBay. This was not my first trench watch, but the previous few did not satisfy me, so I thought I had gotten a better one, this time. Dial wasn't bad, hands were intact, and it was running!

When I received it, I wore it around a bit, but I wanted it lumed, so I sent it off to the watchmaker I was using at the time, who serviced it, lumed it, and returned. Unfortunately, the hour hand broke in the process, but the lume held it together, and it was good enough. I wore it for some years after, until it needed servicing again.

Having located a CMW in town, I took it to him for servicing. When I got it back, he informed me that the movement didn't fit the case right. Sure enough, it was a mismatch. The watch was made by now-defunct Ferrero SA and the case was (not the current company) Invicta.

Well, heck! Can't have that. I turned to eBay and started to look for parts watches to steal the case from.

Imagine my surprise to find not one but two parts watches of the same type within a month! One even had the original strap attached. Alas it was not in good enough condition to retain, but I kept the sterling silver buckle.

I sent the whole mess to a CMW I found online who seemed competent, the local guy having been found worthless in the meantime, and sent the whole mess out. From one watch was taken the original gold crown, stem, and sterling case, and any parts worth a damn from the two parts movements. The best of all were retained, the movement adjusted, and back came a watch to be proud of!

Some time later... the crystal broke. I can't remember how or why, but by this time I had learned about how crystals were inserted in pocket watches, heat the bezel and seat it, and when the bezel cooled, the crystal was retained. I measured the bezel as best I could, converted to lignes, and bought a series of VTF crystals from Otto Frei. They were less than $5 each, so I bought four around the proper size, hoping one would fit.

Starting with the smallest, the first two were too small. The next nearly fit, and the last was clearly too big. Hm, how to heat the sterling bezel? I set a pizza pan on the burner, the bezel on the pizza pan, and the crystal into the opening the best I could. Turned the burner onto a lowish setting, and moved it around with my finger pushing down on the crystal. After about 30 seconds... PING and it went right in! Holy smokes!

After letting it cool, the crystal was set perfectly in its groove and didn't break. I mounted the bezel back onto the watch, and I'll be darned! Looked at from the side, the contour of the bezel matched perfectly with the curvature of the bezel and the caseback! What luck!

Some years passed, and it was time for another service. My previous watchmaker decided to make parts for the trade only, so another CMW was found somewhat closeby, about 40 miles away in Illinois. Since I was passing by (sort of) on the way to a Chicago suburb, I made an appointment and brought three watches along. I had by then sourced another "parts" Ferrero and the hands were the right size and unbroken, so they were substituted and relumed by this watchmaker.

Well, turned out that he was not all he was reputed to be. I had sent three watches, and he screwed up all three jobs. One was a pocket watch that could barely run when it came back, another was an Elgin Foch where brown paint was applied instead of lume (contrary to the work order) and the Ferrero was relumed with a completely different color of paint that didn't glow worth a damn, instead of the correct Luminova.

Grr.

Fortunately I had found a local CW21 at the Rolex dealer who was willing to service some of my watches in exchange for the Speedmaster I didn't really want anymore. He serviced the movement properly, and mixed Luminova of his own to match the dial.

Finally, success!

After at least a decade my Ferrero was in good shape, and my only challenge these days is sourcing the strap most like the one I received with a parts watch.

Behold!



The parts watch with the original strap:



Sorry, not very big, but it was probably a medium brown when new, it is sewn onto the lugs, so box stitch near the lugs, and stitched down the side. Also unpadded. If you come across anything remotely similar at 5/8" or 16mm, let me know!

Hope you enjoyed it!

Tom

 

Thursday. Ready or not, here’s another story.

A friend (now deceased), about 30 years ago, told me he had a friend that lived in Vancouver, B C. This friend had SIX Hamilton model XXII torpedo boat chronometers. These are the smaller relative of the Hamilton model XXI I recently included in this thread. The model XXI chronometer was used on battleships, aircraft carriers, cruisers, frigates, submarines, and perhaps other war ships as well. Generally, these ships carried three of these chronometers. There was only ever one of them on the bridge (ever hear of kamikaze?). The others might be with the navigator, in the radio room, or even the captain’s cabin. The types of ships these chronometers were carried on were usually the sort that were a long way from land for extended periods. And might be involved in a battle of some sort, at the drop of a hat.

It was about 1990. Several of us were NAWCC types, and were headed to Portland, Ore., for an NAWCC regional. We drove via Vancouver B C, and we visited the owner of the six model XXIIs. Sure enough, he had six of them! He asked me to take one with me to Portland, and to sell it for him at collector guide value (30 years ago, the collector guide value of a model XXII was $475.00 U S!) I sold the chronometer for him. We returned home via Vancouver, and visited him again, to give him his money. He thanked me, then suggested that he sell me one, as well! I took mine with me, and then sent him the money.

The Hamilton model XXII (our subject today) were used on tankers, hospital ships, merchant marine, coast guard, minesweepers, or torpedo boats. Often, these were ships that were generally escorted by armed warships, or were seldom far from land for extended periods. These are a 35-size, stem wind, stem set, 52-hour duration on a wind, equipped with an up/down (winding reserve) indicator, patent micrometer regulator, 21-jewels, fitted into a mahogany case, with gimbals. The list I referred to said it was made in 1941. The chronometer:

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So many watches! So many stories! Here’s another one for Thursday.

In 1971, I was running a jewellery store for a small regional chain of stores, which had 7 stores in two adjacent provinces. The chain had just been bought out by a major Canadian jewellery chain, and I had lucked out with two quick promotions. The total chain of stores now was split into two divisions. The one division carried Rolex in all of its stores. A Rolex sales promotion was introduced among the stores in the one division, the prize being a Rolex Air-King Oyster Perpetual Date. My store won the prize. So I won the Rolex.

My new Rolex was my go-to watch for about 5 years. In the mid-1970s, I began amassing a collection of watches, so the Air-King was relegated to being just one in the rotation. Our son was about 7 or 8 years old in the late 1970s. He had been wearing old watches that I had kept fixing up for him, and he kept breaking them! In 1979, I hadn’t been wearing the Air-King, I decided I would let him wear it. I thought it would be a watch he couldn’t break! Well! I underestimated our son! Within the year, he had trashed the Oyster bracelet, smashed the crystal, broken the rotor post, broken the stem, and got water in it! I smartened up quickly enough that the watch was salvageable when I took it away from him. He went back to wearing orphan watches that I kept fixing up for him. Since those days, I have only given him two new watches. One was a plain Jane Seiko quartz that didn’t last too long because I never was able to seal it well enough to keep the water out of it. The other one was a modern Seiko mechanical divers model. I have given him other respectable watches over those years as well. One was a Tudor oyster automatic. His watch of choice today is Timex Iron Man! Where oh where did I go wrong?

This watch came to me direct from Rolex, Canada, in the presentation box, with the hang tag attached. The MSRP on this watch in 1971 was $215.00! Check out the price of the modern Air-King today. Close to 6 grand if I recall correctly, Read it and weep. In 1965 when I joined this firm, the steel and 14-karat gold Rolex Oyster Perpetual Date-Just with the steel and gold Jubilee bracelet was $495.00. And the 18-karat gold Day-Date model on the 18-karat gold President bracelet was $1,995.00!

I still have that watch today, although it is on an after market steel Oyster bracelet. It has been serviced numerous times over the 50 years (almost) that I have owned it. It is still an accurate, reliable watch, though I seldom wear it. It has the 25-jewel, calibre 1520 Perpetual movement in it. A close look at the dial might lead you to think there is lint on the dial. That is not lint. That is the clear coat finish on the dial beginning to peel. These early Rolex date models don’t have a quick-change date on them. Otherwise, I’d likely wear it more often. The watch:

 

Those were the days - when you could put a Rolex on the wrist of an eight year old without giving it a second thought. These days it would be enough to get you committed to an asylum (or whatever they are called now).

Mind you, I gave my 20 year old Seamaster 300 (bought new in 1967) to one of my sons when he turned 21, and it took him about a year to lose it.

 

I once had a real nice Omega Constellation, steel and gold, that I had not been wearing. I was a Rolex guy, after all. I gave the Omega to a young relative (likely in his mid twenties). He left it in an unlocked car while he was playing tennis! You can guess what happened. Gone!

 

Friday, A M. Time on my hands, like many of the rest of us. Still deep in winter here on the western Canadian prairies. So even without the virus, we would be confined to barracks.

The subject watch this time, can hardly be described as exotic. In fact, if it wasn’t for its part in the history of my family, it would have been a donor watch. It belonged to my paternal grandfather. He was born in Whitehall, Stronsay, in the Orkney Islands. The Orkney Islands comprise about 70 islands, only 20 of which are inhabited. The Orkneys are located in the North Sea, north of the Scottish mainland, and not too far off the coast of Norway. Today, Whitehall would be considered a village, but it was once a thriving port, prior to the collapse of the herring fishing industry prior to WW1. I haven’t been there, but I am imagining the Orkneys as being a rocky, cold, damp wasteland.

My grandfather was born in Whitehall on October 14th, 1865, at exactly 3:00 PM, according to his birth certificate (which I have). His father is listed as an agricultural labourer. The details I have are purely anecdotal, but as an adult, still in the Orkneys, he was an hostler. He looked after horses, groomed them, etc. My late father told be that my grandfather came down with pneumonia, likely about 1888 or 1889. He was under a doctor’s care for months as he was nursed back to health. This was in an era when treating many diseases relied on the body’s own defences to pull you through. Regarding this virus situation wer’e presently enduring, it seems not much has changed. The doctor advised my grandfather that he should re-locate to a more moderate, warmer, drier climate than the Orkneys, because of his compromised lungs. My grandfather had an older brother who had emigrated to Detroit some years before, where he worked for the street railway. My grandfather emigrated to Detroit. He worked his passage on a cattle boat which sailed out of Leith, Scotland, likely in about 1888 or 1889.

When my grandfather landed in Detroit, he stayed in a boarding house for a while. He met a Canadian girl who was housekeeper. A short stint in Detroit, and he moved to San Francisco where he again was a hostler with the street railway. He became a naturalized citizen of the U S A, in San Francisco, in July of 1896. In 1899, he returned to Detroit, and married the Canadian girl. My late father was born in Chicago in February of 1900.

Fast forward to March of 1908. The family was living in Elyria, Ohio, where my grandfather was employed by the Columbia Steel Works. At the young age of 43, he passed away, leaving a widow with two sons. Total expenses, all in, for his funeral was $139.00. I have the receipts.

I won’t recount everything that ensued up until 1962, when my grandmother died. My late father was her executor. He inherited his father’s Elgin pocket watch, which I likewise inherited at my father’s death in 1976. The watch:



It is a coin silver case with gold inlay on the back. The movement is a 7-jewel, gilt, full plate stemwinder, stem set. Made circa 1889. Just when he acquired it, I don’t know. But I suspect he was living in San Francisco by then. He likely bought it used. I thought about replacing the scratched crystal before telling this story. But what you see is what he saw in Elyria, Ohio, the day before he died in 1908. So I’ll leave it.

 

Here’s a brief one for you. It is not a watch in my collection, but one that I salvaged for a friend after a hack had his way with it.

This is an 1883 model Waltham, coin silver hunter case, 18-size, 17-jewel, lever set watch with a Canadian background. Likely produced circa 1890. As with a lot of watches in collections, nothing is known of the past history of this one. The dial is hand-painted in vitreous enamel, and the sign on the tender is DOMINION, for the Dominion Atlantic Railway that operated in the Annapolis Valley, in Nova Scotia, Canada, in the late 19th century. Such enamel decoration was a challenging manner of decoration. The painter (likely a young woman experienced in very fine work with a steady hand, and good eyesight) probably used a sable hair brush trimmed to a very fine point. There are at least five colours of vitreous enamel on that painting, each colour individually applied, then fired in a kiln. After cooling, another colour was applied, and fired again. And so it goes until the task was finished. The spoilage rate in such a process was high because the painters used a coke oven in that era, and fly ash was a problem. This is a very rare, and highly sought after watch. You will notice the movement is also marked Dominion. The Dominion Atlantic Railway was eventually bought by Canadian Pacific Railway. If you want to know more about the DAR, there is a good article on Wikipedia.

The locomotive represented in the picture is a wood burner as evidenced by the tall smoke stack.

 

Neat! I have an 11-jewel William Ellery-grade movement. Yours is of course nicer.

Tom

 

Wow, what a piece of art! I loved hearing about the process. We sure miss things like this in our mass produced life.

 

Unfortunately, the Dominion Atlantic isn’t mine. The owner is a retired locomotive engineer. I serviced this watch for him about 35 years ago, and took pictures at the time. Your William Ellery is the same one you mentioned earlier that a watch repairer said nothing could be done with it? That is unfortunate.

 

Yeah, it was my great-grandfather's. I got it from my aunt's estate; it had no crystal and no hands at that point. From what I understand, it was fudged often enough that it would take too much replacement and too much money to make it right.

It runs, and almost keeps time, less than a minute a day, in any event.

Tom

 

I hope you will indulge me moving outside the thread boundaries here, as this story does not include a watch. I am offering it only because in these house-bound times, it is a collecting story that some of you might find interesting.


In 2011 I headed off with my wife from Sydney to Los Angeles to undertake a leisurely driving tour through Nevada, Arizona, and Utah to Santa Fe in New Mexico, then back to San Francisco, mixing visits to famous national parks with stops on the way for antique shops (my wife is chronically unable to go past them without needing to browse).

Whilst waiting for her to check out the contents of one particularly down-at-heel antique centre I wandered around looking for something to occupy me. I then noticed a good quality but very dirty brass bound antique box tucked away in the bottom of a cabinet, with no visible price tag. 'Probably empty and too much money' I thought, ‘but worth a look’, so I asked the staff member to get it out for me.

Here is the box, subsequently cleaned up.



To my astonishment it was a Victorian coromandel dressing case, complete with its original finely engraved silver topped glass bottles and jars and mother of pearl handled small fittings.

I could see that the quality of the set was exceptional, and the exterior would respond to careful restoration. Its internal condition was superb. The silver fittings were sterling hallmarked for London 1858 with beautifully machine turned, engraved and monogrammed covers.



The price turned out to be so low (about a third of what it would bring at auction when cleaned up) that not buying it would have been downright stupid.

Unfortunately the jewelry drawer beneath the main compartment was locked and there was no key.

Rattling noises from that drawer indicated that it contained something, so there might be a nice surprise when I eventually found a way to open it. As you may imagine, for the rest of our trip I tried every antique key that could be found in every antique shop we visited, but none came close to opening that tantalizing drawer.

After bringing the box home to Sydney, a local locksmith successfully picked the lock to the jewelry drawer. Alas, there were no gold sovereigns or US double eagles. However there was an interesting assortment of antique bits and pieces including Chinese silver, cufflinks, Siamese silver bullet money, a tie pin set with amethysts and a seed pearl, two tiger claws, some coins, and some small Japanese ivory pieces.

What really caught my eye though was an antique silver wax seal engraved with a motto and coat of arms that I resolved to look at more closely. Google subsequently presented me not only with an uncommon family name with that motto, but also with an image of the same distinctive coat of arms that was on the seal. An expert confirmed the seal as having being made in Scotland around 1730 - 1780.



This is where the story gets a bit spooky.

To my astonishment, I found that it was the exact motto and coat of arms of the family of my great, great grandmother. This particular coat of arms was used by no other family. We had old family papers which traced her ancestors back several centuries, and the seal’s time of manufacture indicated that it probably originally belonged to her grandfather or great grandfather.

She had married my great, great grandfather in 1839 in Scotland and they emigrated to Australia soon afterwards, arriving in March 1840, their first child being born a month later. They established a pioneer sheep and cattle station (a ranch to our American friends) in northern New South Wales, at that time far from any major settlements.

She must have been an indomitable woman. When my great, great grandfather died in his forties in 1862, she continued to raise her large family and run the extensive sheep and cattle station until one of her sons took over in 1873.

Since those days the family has honored her by including her family name in each subsequent generation. Her family name is therefore part of my own name and of the names of our children, so you may understand why finding the seal was of particular significance for me.

It still seems extraordinary that a Scottish seal from the 1700s belonging to one of my own ancestors found its way back to a member of the family via an American antique shop many thousands of kilometres from either Scotland or Australia. It is a prime example of the unexpected joys of collecting.

 

Wow, what a brilliant story.

I bet your family members could hardly believe it when you told them. Do you have any way of finding out who might of owned it in your family?

 

Indeed a story worth the telling! And a outstanding collectible to boot. I was compelled to check out the word “coromandel”. From what I read, it is a peninsula in New Zealand. Particularly a holiday area. Are you able to elaborate on the word as it relates to this exquisite piece? I am most certain that this would have been owned by a very distinguished 18th century lady of some means. The state of preservation and completeness of the kit, especially considering it is close to 250 to 275 years old is outstanding!

 

I am glad you liked the story. My relatives in Australia were dumbfounded when I told them. The best guess as to who the seal first belonged to was either my great, great, great, great grandfather borne in 1736, or his father, born in the late 1600s.

 

As I understand it, coromandel wood is also known as calamander, and came from Sri Lanka. I believe it has been extinct for almost 100 years.

The seal is a lot older than the dressing case, which was made around 1858 (according to the date of the hallmarked silver). The strange collection of small things in the drawer all came from the east and have a distinctly male flavour. One of my great great grandmother's brothers was an officer in the Indian Army in the 1840s and 50s so the seal may have been passed down to him.

 

Saturday morning. Cold outside (-12C°), but no new snow to speak of, not a cloud in the sky, and brilliant sunshine. Time for another instalment. This story has an odd twist to it. Read on.

Mrs. C’s late grandfather was born in 1890. He married circa 1912, and he and his first wife had two children....my wife’s father and his sister. His first wife was in the habit of kissing the children each day as they left for school. One typical day, she was 39 years old, things proceeded as usual. My wife’s father was no longer living at his parent’s home, but my wife’s aunt was. My wife’s grandmother suffered from high blood pressure, and that was a problem in the early 1930s. Her blood pressure was not controlled. She kissed her daughter good by as she left for school, then she had a massive stroke, and died in hospital.

Her grandfather re-married, but she too passed away soon after they were married. He married for a third time, to a widow. She had the subject watch as an artifact from her first husband. She had a 14-karat white gold, diamond encrusted letter “T” in an Old English style, custom made and fitted to the back of the watch after she gave it to him. She passed away in 1954, and my wife’s grandfather passed away several months later. The watch was bequeathed to my wife’s late father.

When the original owner of this watch passed away, his widow had him dressed in his best suit with vest, cuff links, lodge regalia, etc. On the body, and this watch in his POCKET! His wife wanted him to be buried that way. After the funeral, the mortician removed the watch from the body, and set it aside until after the burial. He then presented it to the widow. Boy was she pissed!

After my father in law inherited the watch, he had the diamond set “T” removed, and made into a pendant for his wife (who was his second wife, and not my wife’s mother). Sorry for such a convoluted story, but that is the way it was.

My wife and I were married 54 years ago. When my father in law came to the conclusion that our marriage was likely to last (it has), he presented the watch to me. He was aware I was a watch collector. When he presented the watch to me, it had two ugly holes in the 14-karat white gold case back, left when the “T” was removed. I showed the watch case to a goldsmith friend, and asked him to white gold solder the holes, and make me a diamond set “S”, my family initial. He declined the soldering job, so I brought the case home, and did it myself. I then took the case back for him, to make the “S”. This is the result.

This style of watch was called an “opera” watch by one watch manufacturer. The style became popular among many watchmakers. The wrist watch had appeared before this watch was made, but many men still preferred a pocket watch. Many men felt that 16 and 18 size watches were too big. And 12 size watches were smaller, but still to thick. This style of pocket watch is quite slender because it uses a wrist watch movement in it. It was of a size that better suited men’s fashions, about 100 years ago.

The movement in this watch is a 5/0 size (one inch diameter), 15-jewel, Elgin movement. The case is solid 14-karat white gold. The watch:

 

As I read your story I couldn't imagine how a pocket watch with a diamond encrusted monogram would look. It looks quite nice. The whole piece is very tasteful and classy. Great history as well. You bringing up pocket watches versus wrist watches reminded me of this quote from my great grandfather in a 1958 newspaper article:

"It wasn't until around 1916 when wrist watches started to come in and the reaction to them was poor. No one liked them. Only a few men bought the new innovation and even fewer women were interested. Wrist watches didn't become popular until 1928 and 1929."

 

I once saw an advertisement in an (as I recall) circa 1915 publication aimed at men. It was placed by the Waltham Watch Co. who was a major supplier to the need for pocket watches since their founding in 1852. The advertisement showed a very sharply dressed gentleman of obvious means, wearing a bowler hat, wingtip collar, fashionable tie, camel hair coat, dark trousers, and patent leather shoes covered by grey wool felt spats. He had both his hands in a muff. For those who don’t know about muffs, they were a heavy fabric item, open at both ends, and ladies of the day carried them to keep their hands warm when riding in carriages, or cars with no heater. Beneath the image was the caption “No self respecting man would wear a wrist watch any more than he would carry a muff”. Waltham had no wrist watches in their line at about that time. By 1920, half their catalog was wrist watches,

The Swiss watch companies that are generally credited with unseating the American made pocket watch were actually American companies! Gruen and Bulova. Their products were Swiss, but Bulova was located in New York, and Gruen in Cincinnati. The very FIRST commercial television advertisement ever was an advertisement placed by Bulova in 1941. Are you old enough to remember B-U-L-O-V-A T-I-M-E? I am!





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Circa 1920, Bulova and Gruen saw an under served segment in the watch market. Watches for women. They jumped in, used the right ad agencies, advertised in the right places, in the right media, and they scooped the American watch manufacturers by taking huge chunks of their market share. Wrist watches for men followed. The American companies has rested on their laurels to the point that they were out of business (as manufacturers) by about the mid 1950s. Hamilton was the last to die in 1969. It is only fair to say that the only thing left of Gruen and Bulova is the name. They too are gone.

Here is a picture of Gruen’s headquarters at Time Hill, Cincinaatti. The building is registered in the historic register, and probably still stands.

 

Indeed it does.

Tom