After posting a photo of my grandfather’s Ulysse Nardin Galileo Galilei Astrolabium on Instagram last night, it got me thinking about some of the timepieces I grew up around that first aroused my curiosity for horology. One such timepiece is a certain Jaeger LeCoultre Atmos “Marina” clock.

I wouldn’t be half the horophile I am today if it wasn’t for my grandfather. He’s not a watch collector in the sense of hoarding “collectible” timepieces that end up sitting in the safe. Rather, he owns a handful of interesting pieces that he’s immensely enjoyed and taken great care of throughout the decades.

This is a Jaeger LeCoultre Atmos “Marina” that he received as a commemorative gift when he established the first Swissair flight to my hometown of Jeddah, Saudi Arabia during his time as Director General of Saudi Arabian Airlines. The Atmos was (and still is in my book) a marvel of a clock, allowing “perpetual motion” thanks to the “Bellows” sealed chamber containing ethyl chloride gas that expands and contracts with the fluctuations of barometric pressure. The slightest temperature changes that occur throughout the day are enough to keep the mainspring wound and the Atmos clock perpetually running.

I don’t know whether it was its polished gold tones, its elaborate 3D gilt decoration, or the fact that it just kept on running for years without anyone ever having to wind it or change the battery, but something about this clock enchanted me. As a kid of course I had no idea how it worked, but found it fascinating nonetheless.

During the 1960’s and 1970’s, Jeager LeCoultre produced several series of slightly more upmarket Atmos clocks, which featured Lucite (plexiglass) panels with applied gilt decorations in a few different motifs. The one my grandfather received had the “ship at sea” gilt motif, which I guess was chosen as a symbol of voyage. I honestly don’t know if “Marina” was an artist or a company who made the decorated Lucite panels, or just the name given to these clocks, but that’s what they go by.

The clock features the same basic design of the Atmos of that epoch, with a clean white dial with applied faceted dart markers and dauphine hands in polished brass. The clock sits in a polished cuboidal brass case. The aperture under the dial allows a view of the rotating pendulum. The sculpted gilt inlays are visually stunning, as they appear to float on the black lacquer base.

This is just one of the many horological artifacts that has, for better or worse, made me the watch lover I am today…