By Gill Heavens
Gill Heavens meets two talented watchmakers who are designing new, and resurrecting old, timepieces from across the county.
Abraham Louis Breguet, Thomas Rudge, George Daniels, Rebecca Struthers; do these names mean anything to you? Probably not. Rolex, Omega, Tissot, Cartier; I expect these are more familiar.
The latter are, I’m sure you are aware, covetable timepieces. The former are a handful of the many artisans who have made, and continue to make, mechanical masterpieces. They are unsung heroes of a product most of us possess and undoubtedly take for granted.
Of course, we are talking about the wrist watch, in all its diverse glory, ranging from mass-produced median to platinum bejewelled treasures. Sometimes, however, they need a little bit of assistance to run smoothly and I know just the people to help.
You will find Horological Underground, a business created and piloted by master craftsman German Polosin, in a Grade II-listed Georgian arcade in central Bristol. There are five slender floors comprising retail space, workshops, offices and even a part-time music rehearsal room. It is here that horological problems are solved.
As you climb the challenging stairs, watches progress through creation, restoration and polishing, before being returned rejuvenated to their owners.
Working alongside German is 23-year-old Finn Marjoram, from Lower Langford, a man who has, through inquisitiveness, serendipity and perhaps a little luck, found his calling in life.
Before Covid caused us to pause, Finn was shown a glass-backed Seiko watch by his father, Stefan, and was intrigued by its workings.
This curiosity soon escalated and he began buying broken watches from auction sites, taking them apart and attempting to put them back together in improved form. Then lockdown landed, accompanied by a worldwide increase in scrolling time, and Stefan noticed an online advert posted by watchmaker German, which had loitered unnoticed for more than a year. He was looking for an apprentice. This could be the perfect fit. It wasn’t long before Finn was picking up mysterious packages at the end of his lane in Somerset and putting his self-taught skills to the test.
Unfortunately, Finn’s first assignment taught him a valuable lesson, when he melted the acrylic watch casing he was working on by cleaning it with alcohol. Distraught, he confessed his sins, but German was nonplussed by this rookie error. He was more impressed by a young man who had taught himself much and brought his own tools and natural talent to the business.
When post-pandemic life resumed, Finn decamped to the Bristol workshop.
Since then, he has progressed from the simple to the sensational, from modest pocket watches to high-end stunners.
Along with an eye for detail, a good recognition of shape and form, and a love of problem-solving, he possesses a quality that is less easily defined. It is not just a job, it is a passion, one recognised by German, perhaps mirroring his own obsession.
German collects rare and unusual timepieces — one-offs and prototypes, specimens charting the transition from pocket to wrist. It is not about monetary worth, but about rarity and innovation. As German says: “Watches embody many attractive attributes, including invention, design, history and culture.” One of these virtues would be enough; combined they are mesmeric.
From their respect of the object comes the desire to renovate and renew.
Enthusiasts relish not only the outer beauty but also that which lies hidden beneath the casing, the intrinsic glory. Almost all watches have common workings, based around the lever escapement invented in the mid-18th century by Englishman Thomas Rudge. This ingenious component negated the need for a pendulum and therefore allowed smaller timepieces to be constructed. It is an efficient mechanism and has proved difficult to improve upon, as it is both accurate and easy to make.
The heyday of innovation came at the end of the 19th century. Before electricity and cars diverted the inventors’ attentions, the best intellects were putting their minds to improving watches.
In the horological world, add-ons beyond the standard two hands are known as complications. These additions include chimes, alarms, stopwatches, depth meters or even phases of the moon.
It is these additional diversions that keep the appetite for problem-solving satiated and, although Finn enjoys both construction and basic repairs, it is the more complex projects that give him most pleasure.
Using microscopes and computer screens, as well as the expected mini tools and magnifiers, Horological Underground will fix or service anything mechanical, from the vintage to the contemporary. People bring in family heirlooms, high-end and not so grand, but all equally valuable to their owners, and all are shown equal respect.
There is something particularly poignant about a timepiece that has been worn and cherished by a loved one.
Some watches brought into the workshop many would think were beyond help; pieces run over by cars, abandoned for decades or, bizarrely, in one case, spending several months being pounded by a wave machine. All is not lost. After a trip to horological emergency services, they are discharged as good as new, if not better.
It is not only wrist watches that come their way, however. Recently a gentleman brought in an intriguing trinket from the 1920s, perhaps a love token or a gift to a lucky child.
Nested in a box constructed from an early form of Bakelite, a little feather-clad, brass bird waits for a button to be pressed. This is her cue to pop out and deliver a bellow-fuelled song, as her beak opens and closes and her body twirls in dance. Remarkably, Finn managed to help this little canary find her song after many years of being mute. And although there is more work until it is back to its former glory, I have no doubt it will rise from the ashes, singing and dancing.
Bespoke watches are also created on site, using handmade components made with precision, all finished to the highest standard, and the pair are not afraid to push the boundaries of design. German has designed a watch called Kopf. The exterior case resembles a robot head, with eyes for dials and teeth that adjust the time. A contemporary progression from their predecessors’ creations, these futuristic designs are a bridge from classical watchmaking to the future of horological craftsmanship.
Vanguards continue in their quest for perfection, including the late George Daniels, who created masterpieces on the Isle of Man, and Rebecca Struthers, the first PhD in horology, who is shining a light on the future of watchmaking.
A watch can be a status symbol, a piece of art, an heirloom, a multifunctional tool or a little of each. For centuries watches have been loved by pioneers and posers, from the average punter to the obsessive collector.
When people value objects they are less likely to be considered disposable, more likely to be cherished. In a world of single use and easy fixes, perhaps the tide is turning. Maybe it is the time to show more respect to the old and the used, to revive and relish, to appreciate the menders, the artisans, the tenders of the broken but not lost or forgotten.
I certainly hope so. And perhaps the names of German Polosin and Finn Marjoram will be added to the list of great innovators. I hope so too.
If you would like to find out more about Horological Underground and follow progress of the singing bird, visit their website german242.com
Image captions
- This Class B chronometer No. 37947 by Guinand-Mayer took a prize in the 1883 Neuchâtel Observatory competition, so it was the 36th most accurate movement on the planet in that year.
- Master craftsman German Polosin collects rare timepieces and designs new styles too.
- Finn Marjoram from Lower Langford has found his calling in life.
- Remarkably, Finn managed to help this little canary find her song after many years of being mute.
