I tend to wear my Chronomaster with navy blue suits, and it really does look very special. The blue of the dial is dark and incredibly deep, and knowing it’s powered by an El Primero movement just makes it even better. It’s the only blue-dialled Chronomaster I’ve ever seen, actually.
Mind you, the view from the back’s not too shabby either…
Well, I’ve been mulling over strap choices for the Bundeswehr, which when I bought it was on a Sinn bund strap (with the pad) and looking pretty authentic as a consequence. I found the pad to be a little too much to carry off, though, and tried it on the strap alone for a while. It still wasn’t singing to me, and after a couple of suggestions were made on TZ-UK I ended up buying an olive green Zulu (style) from Crown & Buckle. I’ve never had an olive Zulu/NATO although I’ve wanted to try one for a while, and the moment I put it on the watch I knew that it was the perfect match. I like nylon straps at the best of times, but I absolutely LOVE this combination.
Is that you can forget the watches that you really love. I’ve had quite a few new pieces arriving over the last couple of months, but someone posted a shot of a Sea Dweller earlier and I happened to stumble across it as I was having my morning surf (no, that’s not a euphemism). Anyway, I was soon retrieving the Pelicase from it’s cubby-hole and putting my Triple 6 on in place of the Tuna that’s been glued to my wrist for a while.
As the new camera arrived this morning, I thought “why not”…
I’ve made a bit of a fool of myself lately, with a flipping spree that went along the lines of Monster – Tuna – Monster – Tuna – Monster – Tuna – Tuna. Well, that’s not quite right because the final Tuna is staying, and that’s because I eventually followed my heart and went vintage again. This one’s a 7549-7010 from 1978 and it’s absolutely amazing!
It was actually the first of Seiko’s shrouded divers, designed by Ikuo Tokunaga (Tokunaga-san was the chief designer of Seiko’s Professional Diver series) but what little information is archived away in the (no longer available) Tokunaga Watch Museum. However, it can still be accessed thanks to the amazing Internet Archive Wayback Machine, from which the following has been “rescued”:
The first professional quartz diver’s watch model of 300m saturation diving specification in Japan. The movement is (the) 7549 caliber which has 5 years battery life. There are 17 new technologies, such as L shaped glass gasket structure, glass screw ring fixing structure, twin side shield crown structure, special elastic strap made from polyurethane rubber same as 600m professional diver’s watch.
The interesting thing in that passage for me is the reference to Seiko’s pioneering L-shaped glass gasket, which is – still – the reason that Seiko’s professional/saturation divers avoid the need for a Helium Escape Valve (HEV) which you’ll find on pretty much all the the “oppositions” watches. Anyway, I can’t begin to describe how lovely it is, but here’s a few quick shots to show off the really nice lume on the dial. Apologies too, but it’s a very reflective crystal and requires more time and attention than I could give it right now.
Well, it’s five days now since I picked up the Bundeswehr so I thought an update might be in order (it’s been this and my old Speedy, both of which are giving me a lot of enjoyment at the moment). Anyway, I took the bund pad off the strap a day or so ago, and I think I prefer the look and feel of the watch as it is now (removing the pad makes a remarkable difference, in fact). The Valjoux 230 movement seems to be accurate to within a couple of seconds per day and it really is amazingly smooth to wind, springing into life after a half-turn of the crown. As a tool watch, it’s exactly what I’ve been looking for; in other words, a solid and reliable workhorse of a watch, and one that I don’t instinctively feel needs to be babied when it’s on my wrist. (This has proved harder to achieve than it should have done, actually, but there you go.)
So, all things considered this one’s something of a success 🙂
A little while ago, I bought Sinn’s reissue of the classic Heuer Bundeswehr 1550SG military chronograph, the 155. Sinn had produced a run of these watches as a consequence of having some left over cases from their contract with Heuer to refurbish the originals (and, subsequently, to produce their own Sinn-branded version). Now, the Sinn 155 is a great watch in it’s own right, but my brief period of ownership simply fuelled a desire to find the real thing, not for the first time. Having moved it on as a consequence I prepared to play my usual waiting game, but before very long a rather lovely example of the 1550 appeared on TZ-UK. It was in original used condition, and I hummed an hawed for a while as I considered whether or not I really wanted to buy yet another watch. I should have known that snoozing would mean losing, though, and sure enough it was gone before I had a chance to talk myself into it.
I thought that would be it for a while, and actually breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief in some ways. However, what I didn’t expect was that a complete minter would pop up a day later on another forum, and this time I wasn’t prepared to let it slip through my fingers. This morning I popped out for a quick F2F and right now it’s on my wrist.
The Heuer Bundeswehr 1550SG (latterly to become known simply as the Heuer Bund) was a military watch, issued from 1968 until the end of the 70’s; “Bundeswehr” is actually German for Federal Defence, and the watch was issued to those forces. All were built around a Valjoux flyback chronograph movement of one description or another, and I thought it might be useful to explain what that term means first as it’s bandied about quite a lot but I’m sure not everyone understands it. The following quote and image is actually courtesy of Rich Askham:
“In a regular chronograph calibre the chronograph mechanism must be stopped before it can be reset. In a flyback chronograph, the mechanism can be reset while it is still running, making it particularly useful for timing consecutive short interval events. This is achieved by the addition of a additional lever in the chronograph mechanism. When the reset button is pressed the flyback lever lifts the coupling clutch from the chronograph centre wheel allowing the mechanism to reset.”
So, there you go. In fact, the original specification from the Bundeswehr was based upon the Valjoux 230; this movement was not chronometer-rated, but was known for being easily regulated to within +/- 1 second per day. Even without such fine-tuning it was a very accurate calibre, as can be seen by the specification sheet that I unearthed whilst having a mooch around the net for this write-up:
Anyway, back to the watch itself. There were quite a number of variations, even ignoring the Sinn-branded models arising from the contract I mentioned earlier. Because of this one has to be quite careful in order to ensure that all is genuine and above-board (and there are some fakes/frankens about to fool the unwary) but the numerous dial differences are summarised in the lists below – this time, courtesy of Walter Manning and the research he carried out for MWR:
There are 5 configurations of Heuer-branded dials:
· The “classic 3H/T” – a red 3H-symbol appears just below the dial centre, and a tiny “T” appears just above “6”.
· The “3H-only” – a red 3H-symbol appears just below the centre.
· The “T-only” – a tiny “T” appears just above “6”.
· The “clean” – no markings beyond the “Heuer” logo.
· The “sternzeit” – STERNZEIT REGULIERT markings just below the dial centre.
There are 2 configurations of Sinn-branded dials:
· The “3H-only” – a red 3H-symbol appears just below the centre.
· The “clean” dial – no markings beyond the “Heuer” logo.
Then, there are 4 variations of the “3H” symbol:
· The “standard” 3H.
· The “big-letter” 3H – circle is same size as standard, but the letters are larger and fill the circle more completely.
· The “small-letter” 3H – circle is same size as standard, but the letters are smaller and there is a small dot in the centre.
· The “small-circle” 3H – the circle is noticeably smaller.
There are also 3 variations of the manufacturer logo:
· The “standard” Heuer logo – fits inside :58 and :02.
· The “big” Heuer logo – fits even with :58 and :02.
· The Sinn logo.
And (finally!) there are 2 variations of the font used for the hour-markers:
· The “standard” font – most noticeable because none of the numbers are cut-off.
· The “cut-off” font – the 10:00, 8:00, and 2:00 are cut-off by the subdials.
Confused? You should be. But to the watch in hand (or on wrist), then, which from the serial number seems to date back to 1977 or thereabouts, and which houses the classic manual wind Valjoux 230 flyback movement. The case (as I believe with all the variants) measures 43mm x 50mm, and has a height of 12mm including the very slightly domed plexi.
Now, whilst the provenance of this particular watch can be traced back to the original (military) owner in Germany, the case back doesn’t indicate that it was issued. It may have been, and the back subsequently replaced by Sinn at service. Alternatively, and by all accounts not unusually, the back may have been deliberately replaced in an attempt to avoid handing it back to the BW on leaving the service. In any event, this is a truly outstanding and original example of the classic 3H/T dial, with an absolutely gorgeous and matching patina to both the dial and the hands; and a condition all round that can accurately be described as close to mint.
You could look for a very, very long time to find an example like this, which is why I didn’t hang around when I spotted it. It’s destined to be with me for the long term, I think, so here are a few photos to demonstrate why I’m so pleased with it.
I’m really delighted to have receive a custom strap today, made by a lovely guy called Giuliano over in Italy (anyone who frequents the Chronocentric Heuer forums will probably be familiar with the name, and that’s where he can be found). I had the strap made in a slightly darker shade of brown than Giuliano normally uses, and also opted for grey contrasting stitching as i thought this would blend in the dial very well. That aside, it’s a Corfam-style made with a similar simulated leather to the originals.
I think it looks great!
“Idiot”, for sure; but “indecisive” too, it seems…
In the space of about a month, I’ve bought a “new” Monster; decided I wanted a Tuna instead; sold the Monster and bought a Tuna; thought I may have made a mistake again; sold the Tuna and bought another Monster; realised I wanted the Tuna all along; and sold the Monster to fund another Tuna.
Anyway, aside from throwing away some hard-earned spondoolies I’m now delighted because this latest (and last, I hope) Tuna is on the very, very good quality OE bracelet. It makes the watch, in fact, although it’s a tasty bit of kit whatever strap it’s on.
I loved this 1971 Speedmaster long before a rather lovely vintage 1171 arrived for it in the post today; I now love it even more. Could anything be more beautiful?
When your significant other decides that she likes a watch that’s just arrived as the intended latest incoming? Well, it ends up on a pink strap, and you never see it again. Aside from when you’re asked to “put it on your blog”, that is.
Before…
After…
It hit me even harder when the FedEx bill for import charges arrived in the post!
I’ve seen (and even contributed to) quite a few discussions about this over the last few months. The die-hards will say that it has to be no more than two – or, at most, three – hands, and that a simple date complication is a complication too much. Some will contend that it has to have sub-seconds or no seconds at all, and that even a third central hand precludes a watch from the definition of “dress”. I’ve even heard the argument that the case must be of a special metal, and of course most will say that any dress watch must be on a leather strap.
Probably, at some point in time, all of these arguments would have held merit. To my mind, though, the informality of life these days makes a bit of a nonsense of the traditional view. When black tie events see a plethora of Disney waistcoats, bow ties and jacket linings, and when the majority of people will wear pretty much what they like without reference to the old definitions, the dress watch today can be almost anything you want it to be. It’s not as if anyone will take you to task on it, and I shouldn’t imagine many people care, anyway.
For me, “dressy” is more important than “dress”. Something that can also be worn casually means that they don’t just come out for special occasions, and that makes a lot more sense considering how much money we have tied up in these silly things. With all of this in mind, I reckon these two fit the bill quite nicely.
What a Bowie knife has to do with a Flieger, nor why I even own one (so don’t ask).
Well, the second of this weeks incomings is something of a triumph. I’ve been on the hunt for the right IWC Mark XII for about a year now; I’ve nearly settled for the newer Mark XV and/or Mark XVI once or twice, but resisted the temptation in the hope that I’d find what I was looking for. That persistence paid off a week or so ago and today the watch arrived in the post. It was one of those occasions when the reality lived up to expectations, fortunately.
The history of IWC’s “Mark” series of pilot watches is an interesting one. The earlier models were made to MOD specifications, and included the relatively rare Mark IX from the 1930’s and it’s successor (the Mark X) a decade later. However, after WWII had ended IWC made the first military watch for which it was to receive real acclaim, in the form of the Mark XI. This watch was designed to meet more stringent military specifications; powered by IWC’s now famous Calibre 89 manual-wind movement and with antimagnetic shielding, the watch was durable, accurate and legible. Despite its utilitarian attributes, its beautiful style – specifically a perfectly designed and executed dial and case – made the watch a design triumph. Produced initially for Royal Air Force use, the Mark XI evolved into a legend.
The Mark XI continued in production for some three decades, but ultimately (in 1994) IWC launched its successor in the form of the Mark XII. This time, the watch was given an automatic movement (more on that below) and a date function. The dial remained clear and functional and whilst once again the watch was given anti-magnetic properties, this time it was more water-resistant too. The real change was inside the case, though, and it’s for this reason that I set my sights on the Mark XII. In fact, it’s the reason that – for many people – the Mark XII is the last of the series worthy of seeking out from a collection point of view.
The watch contains IWC’s Calibre 884/2 movement, which is essentially Jaeger LeCoultre’s Calibre 889/2 with some modifications. I’m not an expert when it comes to watch mechanics but Walt Odets certainly is, and his findings can be read here. It certainly makes for interesting reading, and whilst some have criticised the JLC movement for being less robust than it’s ETA-based successor for me that really isn’t an issue. It’s what makes this watch so much more desirable than others that can be more easily obtained, and it made the hunt worthwhile. In fact, I could have found one more quickly/easily had I been less fussy, but I specifically wanted the original tritium dial and hands (many have been changed at service), I wanted a really good matching patina on both (this one has that, as can be seen below) and I really wanted a relatively recent service. Anyway, all good things come to those who wait.
I’ve had two or three El Primero-driven watches in the past, and the last one I sold rather reluctantly was the De Luca. Zenith are a bit of a mixed bag, really, with some absolutely stunning models and others that are quite… well, not as stunning. One that seems to fly under the WIS radar, however, is the Chronomaster and I have to say that I don’t know why. It’s a genuinely beautiful watch, and is a great mix of sporty and dressy. With a case size a tad under 39mm it’s also very, very wearable unless you have particularly large wrists. Inside is an El Primero calibre 400 movement, dictating the consequent subdails at 3 (chronograph minutes), 6 (chronograph hours) and 9 (running seconds). Unlike, say, the Daytona the Chronomaster also has a date window between 4 and 5.
This particular watch is actually quite unusual in that it has a deep blue dial. Most that you see have a silver/white textured dial and whilst they’re lovely it’s always nice to find something less common than the norm. The indices are applied (I have no idea if they’re steel or white gold, and can’t find the info anywhere on the net) and the subdials have an outer ring in whatever material it is. With the deep blue of the dial the effect is absolutely lovely, and very striking.
This watch is in great condition (having just been serviced by Zenith) and came on a brand new Zenith alligator strap with Zenith’s single-fold deployant clasp. Its as comfortable as any watch I’ve ever worn bar the Aerospace, and I’m sure I’m going to enjoy wearing it a lot, either dressed up with a suit or dressed down with jeans, etc. I think it’s an amazing watch.
Half Past The Hour 