Friday, September 20th, 2024, I knocked off of school at a few minutes past eleven o’clock. I greeted everyone with smiles as I lugged my books to the car. It was over. The last semblance of normal school died a few days ago; from then on, it was just over three weeks until final exams, the battle to end the great war of matric. I could already feel the huge lump of emotions forming, like a teratoma with eyes and teeth growing inside my body.
Granny was getting her hair done that day. I was free and my mother had to drive her to the salon. In the two and the half hours she was gone getting a recolour and trim, I went through the kist in the sitting room. It’s full of things from bygone eras, monuments to people and governments who have risen and fallen. My grandmother wanted to get rid of the stuff. I’ve always been fascinated by the contents of the kist since I was a young boy. In there, there were heaps and heaps of stamps. My grandmother used to collect stamps; one day I want to get a seasoned collector to rifle through everything to see if there’s anything of value. Old money also fascinated me. There were bags of coins from all over the world. I sometimes wonder where some of them came from. A handful had Arabic script, so they must’ve come from Egypt. My grandmother’s brothers, Boetie and Frank, both joined the war effort. I recall one being a spy in Egypt and one a spy in Italy.
Being the obsessive collector I am, I was on the lookout for wristwatches. I only know of my grandfather’s Omega Seamaster, which he got as a long service award, which came close to his retirement. What he wore before then, history has swallowed up. I’m sure there’s a watch of his somewhere in the house, buried under clothes and books, stuffed away in another kist.
Upon opening an old biscuit tin repurposed as a container for miscellaneous unwanted jewellery, I found a watch. It was a rather ornate thing, being quite shiny and made of silver. It was a Delfin. Later, upon opening it, I found that it packed a very standard ETA 2487. It was a good watch, in fact, a tiny bit more premium than I would have imagined my grandmother to wear. It looked like it had gems set in it, but it was the age-old trick where diamond shapes were cut into the silver to give the illusion of the case being gem-set. It’s essentially a vintage imitation of what would today be called “icing out.” Frankly, I liked the silver better, as it was a reminder that we were never a diamond family. I’m never going to find a Rolex or Patek Philippe hidden away in a rotting cardboard box, because my family, while not being incredibly poor, were far from rich.
It didn’t work. It was fully wound and the hinged case didn’t want to budge. Oh well. Granny would love it if I took it home and gave it some love. Upon rifling through the tin a second time, I found yet another watch. It was also a Delfin. It was round and gold-plated. Upon winding it, it sprang to life. It would stop after a few hours later that day.
When Granny got home from the hairdresser, I showed her the watches and asked her about them. She didn’t know who they belonged to. It was a shame, really, but the kist held many orphaned items. Wanting a second opinion, during the car ride home, I sent a picture of the watches to my aunt. She recognised one, the silver Delfin, as being my grandmother’s watch that she (my aunt) also wore for a while. The gold Delfin remained orphaned.
I knew that Granny’s eyes and memory weren’t what they used to be. People forget about trivial things like watches. We don’t, because we’re collectors, but the average person forgets about a little watch after it has lived in a biscuit tin for forty-odd years. I felt good. I had two watches to tweak, both of which had a lot of sentimental value.
I have always wanted to work on a family member’s watch. My father’s father’s watch has been lost to greedy and inconsiderate people. My mother’s father’s watch, the Omega mentioned previously, is my uncle’s, waiting for the day when a new battery will be popped in. I don’t know much about my father’s mother’s watches, as I’m sure some would have been lost between moving across the country and greedy family members swiping things. At least I had my mother’s mother’s watch, even if she didn’t recognise it at first.
The first thing I did when I got home that day was pour a bit of sherry into a tulip glass I took from Granny’s kitchen. My mother and I exchanged two normal glasses for the two tulip glasses, as no one in Granny’s house drinks alcohol anymore. For me, sherry, Vivaldi and watchmaking is seventh heaven. I got the movement serviced and the case cleaned up quite quickly. It was beautiful. It shimmered as if it really was set with gemstones. The thing that made it the most beautiful was the woman who wore it. One day, that watch will find it’s way to my wife and, if it is to be, my daughter. The bracelet is tiny, not fitting even my mother’s wrist, and also has a part of the clasp missing, but a plan can be made and a solution can be cobbled out of some more 925 silver when the time is right.
In terms of watchmaking, the movement was perfect. Ladies watches are difficult to service as every part seems to be stacked on top of other parts to save space. They’re small but thick. The ETA gave no resistance whatsoever. I love ETA movements as they are the perfect balance between quality, reliability, serviceability and price. The little tonneau-shaped engine inside Granny’s Delfin was no different. Clever methods were used to make servicing a breeze. Cutouts were made on the side of the movement to allow some of the wheels to simply slide out. It came together well. One screw went missing, which was replaced later.
I love the little Delfin. As pretentious as it sounds, a watch sits atop many veins and arteries that go straight to your heart. A watch is put on by someone every day and watches as everything happens around them. I wonder what the Delfin has seen. Hell, I wonder what many of my watches have seen. I never saw Granny wearing the Delfin, but, maybe one day, a woman just as special as her will get to wear it, and if that woman brings another woman into this world, she will wear it too. The Delfin deserves to live on. Silver and brass don’t decay in the same way flesh and bones do. If you keep it well-oiled, a watch movement will last forever. No matter how healthy you are, your day will come. I want to make enough change to those around me that I will be remembered for that, change, positive change, specifically. Any material I leave for my progeny is merely a bonus.
The Escapement Room 