Grant's Garrote Watch from FRWL and "How a $2 Watch Saved the World"
thegreatgalling
Posts: 180MI6 Agent
Finally finished a project I had ruminating in my mind's eye for the last twenty years, Red Grant's garrote watch from FRWL.
The watch boasts a metal retractable "garrote" (haven't tried it for strength
) ) embedded in the watch case. (Eagle eyes will figure out what i used to achieve the effect).
There is a story as to why I decided on an antique style TIMEX (aside from the fact that it's entirely appropriate an assassin like Grant would wear a watch that can take a lickin' and keep on tickin.') and it looking the part).
The additional reason is an homage to an account of an American U.S Air Force captain who in 1959 was able to "save the world" with his 2$ watch:
He writes, "It was during one of these forward alerts that my crew and I may well have almost triggered World War III. My copilot, Art, and my navigatorbombardier, Jim, and I found ourselves flying a course north from Scotland to Spitsbergen, southeast into the Barents Sea, and then south for what looked like a run into the White Sea. We could have been heading for Leningrad or one of the many major military installations in the northwest corner of Soviet Russia...
Unfortunately, this day the B-47 we were flying was the last one Boeing built. Maybe the company had put it together out of spare parts and rejects because it was a hangar queen, constantly breaking down. If it did make it into the air, the mission usually had to be aborted because of some mechanical problem. But this time we had flown it into the Barents Sea without—as far as I knew—even a hint of a problem and made our turn toward the Soviet mainland...
“Good God Almighty!” Art sitting in tandem behind me shouted into my ears just as a shadow caught my right eye at the edge of my peripheral vision. “A Flashlight!” he yelled. “Good God Almighty, a Flashlight!”
“Flashlight” was the NATO code word for the Yak-25, a twin-engine jet interceptor that had been designed and built for the express purpose of intercepting and shooting down B-47s. And now it had one in its sights. We were dead meat...
Suddenly the Yak dropped back and to the side—perhaps the pilot had spotted the snouts of the cannon tracking him—then edged in to fly parallel with our wing. I could see the pilot clearly. In his helmet and deeply tinted goggles, he looked very much like us. God knows why, but I waved. He stared back for a long second, then returned the wave and waggled his wings...
So, breaking all the rules, we got on the horn. “Hello, Yak. Hello, Yak. We just want to go home. Can we do that?” Staticky silence. The Yak flew silently at our side.
Finally a heavily accented voice emerging from the ether asked, “Are you the Boeing bomber?” My response in the affirmative was met with silence.
Then: “Why are you approaching the Soviet Union? What is your intention?” The transmission seemed to us to come from a Soviet air-defense ground-control station, not the fighter.
I explained about the failure of our navigational equipment. I even explained that we were flying the last plane in the production run and that it was a piece of junk that was always breaking down. I said all we wanted to do was turn around and go home. Could we do that please?
Silence.
I got back on the radio. “If you shoot us down, you’ll start the war. If you try to force us down, we’ll fight and you’ll have to shoot us down.” I thought some more. What else could I say?
Then Jim came on the intercom. “Tell them it’s my fault. Tell them if that Yak pilot lets us go home, I’ll give him my watch.”
With nothing to lose I relayed the message. Silence.
Then: “What kind of watch?”
“Tell him it’s a Timex.”
I did.
“Oh, no,” Art groaned from behind me. “Why didn’t you tell him it was a Rolex? Or at least a Hamilton?”
The Russian voice came over the airwaves again: “Timex is ‘Keeps a licking and takes on ticking’?”
“Something like that. Yes. Da. Da. ”
Silence. But the Yak slid close in to our wingtip, and the pilot raised his left arm and pointed at the wrist. “Give me your watch,” I called down to Jim. He wiggled up and handed it to me. I lifted it toward the Yak. The pilot raised his goggles and stared, then rolled the Yak upside down so that we were flying canopy to canopy. I held the watch up, and he, hanging upside down, stared at it. He circled his left thumb and forefinger.
The radio crackled. “How deliver?”
“We’ll mail it when we get back to England.”
“England?”
Oh, cripes! I’d just passed along classified information to the enemy.
Silence again.
“O.K. You mail to this address.” We all three memorized what seemed like a civilian street address, and I repeated it back over the air.
A few seconds after we had done that, the Yak edged in on our wingtip once again. The pilot gave us the O.K. sign once more. I cranked the B-47 into a near-vertical 180 and headed back the way we had come. The Yak pilot escorted us at eight o’clock high for the next ten minutes. Then he dived down again, giving us some anxious moments, pulled up to our wingtip, raised his wrist, and peeled off into a shallow dive toward Russia.
We returned from our mission about twenty minutes behind schedule. In debriefing we explained the discrepancy by the failure of our navigational equipment and headwinds. Jim was complimented on his extraordinary navigational skills in steering us home—and he did do a fine job—and that was that. There was no mention of our unauthorized breach of radio silence, and we didn’t bring it up.
We did send Jim’s watch to that Soviet address—from a civilian post office in Oxford. We thought about buying a new Timex or even chipping in for a more expensive watch, but Jim said, “No, I promised him my watch, and that’s what he’s going to get. I like the idea of some Russian interceptor pilot wearing my Timex.”...
So on our next forward alert overseas, we mailed a letter to the Soviet address. As near as I can remember, this is what we wrote:
“Dear fellow pilot: We sent you the Timex watch you asked for, so please lay off shooting down B-47s. When the politicians tell us to, we’ll fight, but let’s not rush things.
“Yours truly,
“The crews of the 351st Bombardment Squadron.
“ P.S. If the Timex didn’t work, maybe it was the last one in the production run.”
Throughout the rest of the Cold War, another long twenty years, years that saw all my crew and me retire and some of our sons grow up and become SAC aircrew, no Strategic Air Command aircraft was ever again shot down by a Soviet fighter."
The watch boasts a metal retractable "garrote" (haven't tried it for strength
) ) embedded in the watch case. (Eagle eyes will figure out what i used to achieve the effect).There is a story as to why I decided on an antique style TIMEX (aside from the fact that it's entirely appropriate an assassin like Grant would wear a watch that can take a lickin' and keep on tickin.'
) and it looking the part).The additional reason is an homage to an account of an American U.S Air Force captain who in 1959 was able to "save the world" with his 2$ watch:
He writes, "It was during one of these forward alerts that my crew and I may well have almost triggered World War III. My copilot, Art, and my navigatorbombardier, Jim, and I found ourselves flying a course north from Scotland to Spitsbergen, southeast into the Barents Sea, and then south for what looked like a run into the White Sea. We could have been heading for Leningrad or one of the many major military installations in the northwest corner of Soviet Russia...
Unfortunately, this day the B-47 we were flying was the last one Boeing built. Maybe the company had put it together out of spare parts and rejects because it was a hangar queen, constantly breaking down. If it did make it into the air, the mission usually had to be aborted because of some mechanical problem. But this time we had flown it into the Barents Sea without—as far as I knew—even a hint of a problem and made our turn toward the Soviet mainland...
“Good God Almighty!” Art sitting in tandem behind me shouted into my ears just as a shadow caught my right eye at the edge of my peripheral vision. “A Flashlight!” he yelled. “Good God Almighty, a Flashlight!”
“Flashlight” was the NATO code word for the Yak-25, a twin-engine jet interceptor that had been designed and built for the express purpose of intercepting and shooting down B-47s. And now it had one in its sights. We were dead meat...
Suddenly the Yak dropped back and to the side—perhaps the pilot had spotted the snouts of the cannon tracking him—then edged in to fly parallel with our wing. I could see the pilot clearly. In his helmet and deeply tinted goggles, he looked very much like us. God knows why, but I waved. He stared back for a long second, then returned the wave and waggled his wings...
So, breaking all the rules, we got on the horn. “Hello, Yak. Hello, Yak. We just want to go home. Can we do that?” Staticky silence. The Yak flew silently at our side.
Finally a heavily accented voice emerging from the ether asked, “Are you the Boeing bomber?” My response in the affirmative was met with silence.
Then: “Why are you approaching the Soviet Union? What is your intention?” The transmission seemed to us to come from a Soviet air-defense ground-control station, not the fighter.
I explained about the failure of our navigational equipment. I even explained that we were flying the last plane in the production run and that it was a piece of junk that was always breaking down. I said all we wanted to do was turn around and go home. Could we do that please?
Silence.
I got back on the radio. “If you shoot us down, you’ll start the war. If you try to force us down, we’ll fight and you’ll have to shoot us down.” I thought some more. What else could I say?
Then Jim came on the intercom. “Tell them it’s my fault. Tell them if that Yak pilot lets us go home, I’ll give him my watch.”
With nothing to lose I relayed the message. Silence.
Then: “What kind of watch?”
“Tell him it’s a Timex.”
I did.
“Oh, no,” Art groaned from behind me. “Why didn’t you tell him it was a Rolex? Or at least a Hamilton?”
The Russian voice came over the airwaves again: “Timex is ‘Keeps a licking and takes on ticking’?”
“Something like that. Yes. Da. Da. ”
Silence. But the Yak slid close in to our wingtip, and the pilot raised his left arm and pointed at the wrist. “Give me your watch,” I called down to Jim. He wiggled up and handed it to me. I lifted it toward the Yak. The pilot raised his goggles and stared, then rolled the Yak upside down so that we were flying canopy to canopy. I held the watch up, and he, hanging upside down, stared at it. He circled his left thumb and forefinger.
The radio crackled. “How deliver?”
“We’ll mail it when we get back to England.”
“England?”
Oh, cripes! I’d just passed along classified information to the enemy.
Silence again.
“O.K. You mail to this address.” We all three memorized what seemed like a civilian street address, and I repeated it back over the air.
A few seconds after we had done that, the Yak edged in on our wingtip once again. The pilot gave us the O.K. sign once more. I cranked the B-47 into a near-vertical 180 and headed back the way we had come. The Yak pilot escorted us at eight o’clock high for the next ten minutes. Then he dived down again, giving us some anxious moments, pulled up to our wingtip, raised his wrist, and peeled off into a shallow dive toward Russia.
We returned from our mission about twenty minutes behind schedule. In debriefing we explained the discrepancy by the failure of our navigational equipment and headwinds. Jim was complimented on his extraordinary navigational skills in steering us home—and he did do a fine job—and that was that. There was no mention of our unauthorized breach of radio silence, and we didn’t bring it up.
We did send Jim’s watch to that Soviet address—from a civilian post office in Oxford. We thought about buying a new Timex or even chipping in for a more expensive watch, but Jim said, “No, I promised him my watch, and that’s what he’s going to get. I like the idea of some Russian interceptor pilot wearing my Timex.”...
So on our next forward alert overseas, we mailed a letter to the Soviet address. As near as I can remember, this is what we wrote:
“Dear fellow pilot: We sent you the Timex watch you asked for, so please lay off shooting down B-47s. When the politicians tell us to, we’ll fight, but let’s not rush things.
“Yours truly,
“The crews of the 351st Bombardment Squadron.
“ P.S. If the Timex didn’t work, maybe it was the last one in the production run.”
Throughout the rest of the Cold War, another long twenty years, years that saw all my crew and me retire and some of our sons grow up and become SAC aircrew, no Strategic Air Command aircraft was ever again shot down by a Soviet fighter."
Comments
And a great story too. {[]
the spyboys Facebook page
Wonderful story too...
Well done that man and great story too
Cheers :007)
(Very tempted to say you put your money where your mouth is but I'm afraid I'm not that cruel but can't be one to speak as I have no props, let alone a collection.)
Fantastic!
As usual, very beautiful props you have there, PM! Are they more pieces from your screen used prop collection?
Thanks, although neither of those are screen-used, of course.
My collection includes screen-used, production-made, and replica pieces:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10153700112408657.1073741914.653423656&type=1&l=30d23aa39d
I've captured only about 50% of it; fell way behind on photography this past year.