Time Beyond Bars: When RAF Prisoners Bought Swiss Watches in World War II
- Spitfires.com
- 2 days ago
- 5 min read
How luxury, hope and a neutral nation’s promise ticked behind enemy lines
Snow fell lightly on the barbed wire of Stalag Luft III, frosting the wooden watchtowers and dulling the clang of the daily roll call. Inside the camp’s crowded huts, Royal Air Force officers shuffled into line — half-starved, unshaven, but still every inch the airmen they’d been before capture. On their wrists, a few wore battered military watches that had survived flak bursts and forced landings. Others stared at bare skin where a watch had once been — lost to guards or looters.
Many RAF pilots from Westhampnett, flying Spitfires over France, never returned. Some, however, did — captured rather than killed. Their personal effects were often confiscated, including their watches, vital instruments for navigation.
On 18 November 1942, Lieutenant Bernard Scheidhauer and Lieutenant Henri de Bordas took off from Goodwood in their Spitfire Mk Vb’s at 14:10 hours for a Rhubarb mission — low-level attacks through cloud cover targeting trains, vehicles and airfields. But Scheidhauer’s Spitfire was hit by flak over Normandy, damaging his fuel line, radio and compass. Disoriented, he turned west instead of north.
After crossing open water, he spotted what he thought was the Isle of Wight and made a forced landing — on Jersey, under German occupation. His war was over. His watch, like his freedom, was taken.
For men like Scheidhauer, a watch was more than decoration — it was an extension of the cockpit, a companion in the sky.
A letter from Geneva: The Rolex offer that defied captivity
Scheidhauer was soon transferred to Stalag Luft III in Silesia. There, behind the wire, the idea of buying a Swiss luxury watch would have seemed absurd — yet over 3,000 British officers did.
Word spread quietly through the camp: in neutral Switzerland, Hans Wilsdorf, founder of Rolex, had made an extraordinary offer. Any British prisoner of war (POW) could order a Rolex watch and need not pay until after the war.
The message, smuggled through Red Cross channels, carried a simple line that changed morale across the camps: “You must not even think of settlement until you are free again.”
The watchmaker’s promise
Hans Wilsdorf, a naturalised Briton born in Bavaria, had built Rolex on precision and reliability — but also on the belief that a watch could symbolise endurance. By 1942, reports of Allied airmen losing their personal belongings to German guards reached Geneva.
Determined to act, Wilsdorf authorised his team to send watches — often the robust Rolex Oyster Chronograph ref. 3525 — directly to POWs who requested them. There would be no invoice, no payment schedule, only a promise of settlement after victory.
For prisoners, that phrase meant everything. “After victory” was not just about timekeeping — it was an assertion that freedom would come.
Ordering hope from behind barbed wire
Inside Stalag Luft III and other Luftwaffe camps, correspondence was censored, but officers found coded ways to request their watches. Letters mentioned “replacement instruments” or “Swiss articles previously owned.” The Geneva address of Rolex headquarters became a lifeline shared quietly between prisoners.
Among those who wrote was Flight Lieutenant Gerald Imeson, a bomber navigator shot down in 1941. His confiscated watch was replaced in 1943 by a parcel bearing the Red Cross insignia. Inside was a brand-new Rolex Oyster Chronograph, reference 3525 — steel case, black dial, luminous hands.
Imeson wore it through the remainder of his imprisonment, including the brutal Long March across Germany in 1945. When liberated, he wrote to Geneva to settle his 250 Swiss franc bill — a symbolic payment for a watch that had measured not hours, but survival.
Time as quiet resistance
For captured airmen, timekeeping became an act of defiance. In a life stripped of control, a working watch gave structure to captivity — marking roll calls, meal times, and secret escape meetings.
Some watches even became tools of resistance. One belonged to Corporal Clive James Nutting, a British shoemaker captured at Dunkirk and a mastermind of The Great Escape. Nutting ordered a Rolex Oyster 3525 in 1943; it arrived months later, flawless and precise.
He later used it to help synchronise escape plans. After the war, Nutting wrote to Rolex Geneva describing how the watch had “kept perfect time in the harshest conditions.” Decades later, his timepiece sold at Christie’s, its provenance traced directly back to Stalag Luft III — a rare survivor of the war and testament to Wilsdorf’s faith in his customers.
The neutral link: Switzerland’s role in wartime supply
Switzerland’s neutrality allowed limited humanitarian and commercial contact between the Axis and Allies. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), based in Geneva, handled prisoner mail and parcels. Officially, the ICRC moved only books, cigarettes, and medicine — but some civilian items, including watches, slipped through.
While other Swiss brands like Omega and Longines reportedly filled similar requests, none matched Rolex’s generosity or risk. The deferred-payment scheme was unique, relying entirely on trust and integrity between company and customer.
Beyond commerce: Why Rolex mattered
Historians still debate Wilsdorf’s motives — altruism, patriotism, or quiet marketing genius. Likely all three.
Having made Rolex a symbol of British resilience, Wilsdorf understood the power of loyalty. Officers who survived the camps returned home to tell their stories — and many became lifelong customers.
Inside the camps, though, those watches represented something deeper: a tangible connection to normal life, proof that someone beyond the wire still believed in them.
The weight of hours
As captivity dragged on, time became elastic. Seasons blurred; birthdays and Christmases passed unmarked. Yet men who still had working watches guarded them fiercely.
When liberation came in 1945, many POWs marched out wearing scratched, battered Rolex Oysters that still ran. Letters of thanks poured into Geneva — some with payment, others with apologies. Each received the same response: “Payment may be made when convenient.”
For many, that watch was the first possession they reclaimed as free men.
The legacy of the POW Rolex watches
Today, surviving POW Rolexes are among the world’s most sought-after military timepieces — not for rarity alone, but for the humanity engraved in their stories.
Nutting’s Rolex fetched tens of thousands of pounds at auction. Imeson’s 3525 remains with his family, its worn caseback a relic of the days he turned it over in his hands behind barbed wire.
Collectors estimate that several thousand such watches were sent, though only a few hundred are known to survive. Each one stands as a reminder that precision, trust, and compassion can outlast even war.
Time, loss and remembrance
This story of Rolex and RAF prisoners of war is one of quiet defiance — a tale of craftsmanship, honour and faith in humanity.
Lieutenant Bernard Scheidhauer, who flew from RAF Westhampnett on his final mission, later took part in The Great Escape. Captured and executed by the Gestapo, his time ended too soon.
But for thousands of others, the small mercy of a ticking second hand kept hope alive. These watches did more than tell time — they told a story of endurance, dignity, and the unbroken spirit of the men who wore them.