What about the undesirable classics? Rottery 17 review

One jewel. No shock protection. No water resistance. The infamous Baumgartner BFG 866 beating away beneath a base metal case. There's no disguising this watch's cheapness.

Buying a cheap watch today will land you something likely Chinese with an unbranded quartz movement behind the dial. And that's if you go super cheap. Casio has come to the rescue with more budget watches than one could dream of. The F-91W is the original budget hero, but the W-86 and LF-20W have also made their place in enthusiasts hearts. The A700W has been tempting me with its slimness and retro design. Not to mention the spectacular AE-1200WH "Royale," which seems to be owned by everyone and their mother these days.

But what about buying a cheap watch from the days when a quartz tuning fork and an oscillator were reserved for the rich? Enter Georges Frederic Roskopf. A man with the noble idea of timekeeping for the everyman. His name is infamous in vintage watch circles for the invention of the pin-lever escapement. His invention took off. Oris used them… at the wrong time and we're stuck using them until the late 70s, thanks to a law that aimed to protect Swiss watchmaking. That's why vintage Oris is a minefield that catches many vintage newcomers out. Trust me, I almost fell into that trap. Thankfully the Oris I bought was serviced and shown some love, so it's not as much a ticking time bomb as the majority of eBay "bargains."

Think Oris pin-pallet. Think cheaper. Oris movements had cool things like shock protection, "water resistance" (we all know that the term "waterproof" was as much a lie then as it is now) and jewels. This Baumgartner unit has none of that. Okay, it has one jewel, but how much is that jewel doing exactly? With that lengthy introduction out of the way, here's the cream of the review:

Case: Base metal. I cannot convey it in writing, but I am making a sound that is a combination of scoffing and gagging. Base metal is the vintage equivalent of recycled plastic. It probably was recycled too, likely made of things like old car parts, broken kitchen appliances and toy cars stolen from little boys who dared roam the streets of wherever this thing was made. Base metal sucks because it's not exactly corrosion-proof and was often stainless steel plated. Plating wears thin, or wears off completely, after half a century and also means you can't polish it with a machine. Hand labour, just like the good old days with polio and leaded petrol. Thankfully, my Rottery's case is still very shiny, with the crown as the only site bearing the marks of chipped plating. At least base metal is heavy, so I can pretend it's white gold if I choose to be on drugs.

Movement: This time, I am having the last laugh. I serviced a movement that wasn't designed to be serviced. It did take me some time, but I am proud of myself nonetheless. These BFGs were made as cheaply as possible, with some having plastic parts and being assembled in Hong Kong. Mine is an amalgamation of a Swiss one and a less Swiss one. "Swiss Movt" is on the dial, which can mean anything from "movement assembled in Switzerland'' to "assembled by chain smoking unicorns in a shed somewhere in a field in Middle Earth." Trust me, I've seen variation in these things. One redeeming quality of the movement is the winding. I moaned the first time I gave it a wind after servicing it. It clicks, much like the ratchet of other watches when turning the crown in the opposite direction to winding. It's a satisfying, smooth, tactile click. It also ticks very loudly. I know I've said that for almost every vintage watch I've owned, but this one is only trumped by my Kienzle travel alarm clock, ahem Kienzle alarm super manual wind by R. Schwartz. If I set it on my desk, and put my ear to the desk, the ticking reverberates and sounds like a tower clock. It beats at a not at all uncommon (for vintage watches) 18 000 A/h.

Design: It's fine. It's okayish. It's decent. It's not that it's boring, just… uninspired. It does absolutely nothing for me. The Arabic numerals are okay at best, with the "0" of the ten being slightly misshapen. Printing is a little too large and thick for my tastes, likely another cost-cutting measure. "Antimagnetic" is the only text between the hands and six o'clock, likely there so that the dial didn't look too lonely or sparse. One thing that is cool, however, is the seconds hand. Not red, not unpainted steel, but orange. Not just any orange, fluorescent orange. The other two hands are exactly what you'd expect. Rectangular, stick hands with a little bit of lume in there. But the seconds hand… my goodness, when a blacklight hits it, it glows and lights up the watch in a way I haven't experienced before. It makes me ask, why don't more watches incorporate fluorescent seconds hands or accent colours? They'll be just like normal accent colours, but cooler.

The dial lacks lume, so at night it's a Movado Museum. Lume on the hands is weak and some of the paint dried up and messed on the dial, which I only noticed after shining my blacklight on it. I'm tempted to go in there with some Rodico, but who cares? I'd rather spare the effort, sleep in, and clean the dial when I'm putting off something more important and use it as an excuse.

Quality: 70s. Bad. Budget 70s. Repulsive. Detestable. Repugnant. Abominable. It feels solid because the case is made of base metal, which likely contains lead stolen (who knows how far the cost-cutting went) from some old lady's roof or piping back in the day. The caseback is stainless steel, which deserves a pat on the back for effort until it cross-threads the case one day, a fate many well-used base metal cases succumb to. Crystal is acrylic, which I like. The sands of time have eaten the original strap or bracelet (I doubt something this cheap was even offered with a bracelet) leaving me to put my Kiefer Expandro expandable bracelet (they were very popular with the elderly and disabled back in the day) on it whenever I want to wear it. I have three watches with 16mm lug width and two 16mm straps. The leather one is on my Lucerne, which is currently not working, but I'm too lazy to swop it over, especially because it's a nightmare to force old-style springbars through a modern strap. It shares the expansion band with my Oris, but the Oris wears it by default, so the Rottery sits as a watch head in the watch box.

Wearability: Great. Excellent. I love vintage proportions and I won't shy away from a small watch. 31mm sits better on the wrist than modern sizing will have you believe. I think that a small watch compliments a man's size and presence, plus it'll look good on the ladies too. It's a little bit thick (those BFG 866s are surprisingly girthy, considering their simple construction and lack of complications) but that's barely noticeable.

The verdict: This one, like every other piece owned by myself, is sentimental. I got into more of that here, where I also went into more detail about what parts I switched around in the movement. Not many of this type of watch are around today. Everyone wants to preserve the classic, collectible watches, but what about the cheap, undesirable ones? Hell, what do you think will happen to vintage fake watches, like the classic Bolivia, Sfiko, Orientex, Homegate, etc? I see some people selling them on an auction site I spend too much time on. Most of those likely have a BFG 866 under the skin. I guess that makes one thing certain: like nuclear waste, the BFG 866 is staying with us for a long, long time. Or until mine breaks and then I swear and cry. I guess I can maybe start a watchmaking business by specialising in these labour intensive and difficult to service movements, although I wouldn't make much money and would end up drinking with the homeless folks at one of the local bars.