Raketa 2614.Н: Servicing the Instant-Date Caliber with Hand Correction

The Raketa 2614.Н: Rebuilding the Instant-Date Caliber and Its Interchangeable Case

"A good movement asks only for a clean home. Give it the right case and the right spring in the right slot, and it will keep faith with you for another lifetime."

This story began at the bottom of a drawer. Tucked into a small plastic bag, beneath an assortment of watch sundries, lay a disassembled Raketa built on the 2614.Н caliber. It had been set aside for better times — specifically, for the day a decent replacement case turned up to take the place of the original, which had long since lost any claim to dignity. Those better times finally arrived, and not by halves. As an old family saying goes, you wait forever without a single coin and then a whole handful lands at once: two cases were suddenly on hand for exactly this movement. One was respectably gold-plated; the other an entirely new old-stock service kit, a white chrome case with a matching dial. What came of them we will see at the end. First, the caliber needs putting right.

A small clear plastic bag holding a square Raketa watch case and a loose movement, set on a white surface — The patient as found: a bagged 2614.Н laid up in storage, waiting years for a case worthy of the movement inside it.

One look explains the long wait. Corrosion had done thorough work, attacking everything from the case to the dial itself. With chrome-plating supplies one could, in principle, have rescued the housing — but there was no need. Because I have written about Raketas many times before, I will not linger over the steps shared with the rest of the family. The interest here lies elsewhere: in the calendar, which is where this variant keeps most of its individuality. That mechanism deserves a close, unhurried look. It is genuinely clever, well considered, and worth the attention.

Corroded square bezel with crystal, a rust-stained caseback, the Raketa dial, and the movement, all separated on a light background — The full extent of the damage with everything parted out — rust on the case, blistering on the dial, but a movement still sound enough to save.

So: the Raketa 2614.Н. It is a popular and well-regarded movement, valued for its simplicity in use, its reliability, its serviceability, and a calendar that switches the date instantly — and, crucially, can be corrected by hand through an ingenious arrangement that needs none of the bulky extra works seen in, say, the Slava 24xx calibers. Here is that calendar, still assembled for now. Before long we will look inside it.

Dial side of the movement showing the printed date ring around the calendar plate, with the winding stem and crown attached — The calendar still buttoned up, seen from the dial side. The date ring and its bridge hide the instant-jump mechanism this article is really about.

A Familiar Architecture from the Balance Side

Viewed from the balance, this movement is no different from its 26xx.Н relatives, so we will take it down quickly — without dwelling on ground already covered, though never forgetting that repetition is the mother of learning.

Balance side of the assembled movement with the balance, bridges and ratchet wheel in place — The train side, indistinguishable from the rest of the 26xx.Н line — proof of how rationally the family was standardized.

With the mainspring let down, the balance comes off. Raketa balances are good. The hairspring stud-carrier is movable, the assembly is shock-protected and screwless. The hairspring is not overcoiled, but that omission keeps the balance — and therefore the whole movement — low in height. Note, too, that there is no shim beneath the balance cock. The fit is exact, machined rather than packed.

The balance assembly lifted clear of the mainplate with tweezers, the bridge exposed beneath — Lifting the screwless, shock-protected balance. The flat hairspring trades an overcoil for reduced height — a deliberate compromise in a slim caliber.

A closer look at the regulator: the curb pins are closed on the hairspring. One caution worth repeating — the hairspring is cemented to its stud, so cleaning must be careful. Soak it carelessly and the spring may let go of the stud, and then it has to be re-glued.

Close view of the balance cock with the regulator curb pins and the hairspring stud — Curb pins set on the hairspring. Because the spring is glued — not pinned — to the stud, solvent has to be kept away from that joint.

This is the hour wheel and its washer. Notice that the hour-wheel pipe is tall: the hands must be raised clear of the calendar works below. The seconds-wheel arbor, however, is of standard length. How was that reconciled? The engineers solved it head-on. Rather than introduce a new line of seconds wheels, they specified seconds hands with pipes of differing length — far cheaper and simpler to produce. The washer is different too. This is no thin spring leaf but a substantial shim, chosen by exact thickness to take up the space between the hour wheel and the dial. Its purpose is to keep the hour wheel and the two-tier calendar-drive wheel from accidentally slipping out of correct mesh, which would make the date switch improperly. That solution, in turn, demanded a sturdy metal dial and a locating ring beneath it — something we will see at dial fitting.

The hour wheel with its tall pipe alongside a thick brass shim washer — The tall-piped hour wheel and its solid shim. The washer's calibrated thickness preserves the mesh between hour wheel and the two-tier calendar-drive wheel.

Stripping the Going Train

The escapement is off — that is, the balance and the pallet fork — and with it the barrel wheel, so as to reach the wheel train straight away.

The train side of the movement marked 2614.Н with the balance and pallet fork removed, the train bridge exposed — Balance, pallet fork and barrel wheel removed, opening a direct path to the going train on this 2614.Н-stamped plate.

And here is the seconds hand with its long pipe. Hands like this were fitted to the 2614.Н, the 2628.Н, and the recently discussed 2601.Н — and also to the 2610, the so-called antimagnetic movement, which I happen to own. Its peculiarity is a pair of permalloy membranes, one under the dial and one under the caseback; because that shield occupied the space between mainplate and dial, its hands and hour wheel likewise had to be raised. Such hands are scarce now. Short-piped ones can still be found, but the long-piped variety is another matter — so whatever was hoarded in the special reserve had to serve.

A single central seconds hand with an unusually long mounting pipe under a loupe, a red arrow pointing to the pipe — The long-piped seconds hand — shared with the 2628.Н, 2601.Н and antimagnetic 2610, and increasingly hard to source today.

Well, the wheel train has been scattered out.

The going-train wheels removed from the plate and laid out together — The train wheels spread out for inspection before the calendar side is touched.

Now we will take down what remains on the fast side and move on to the calendar.

The partially stripped fast side of the movement with a few components still in place — Clearing the last parts from the fast side as the work turns toward the calendar.

There — done. All the components are before us. Or rather, almost all: the center-wheel bridge and the center wheel itself are left untouched for the moment. Why? Because the cannon pinion still has to come off, and for that the center wheel must stay anchored so its pipe is not damaged. Inside that pipe sits a tiny through-jewel in which the seconds-wheel arbor turns.

The train components laid out in a row, with the center wheel and its bridge still mounted on the plate — Everything off except the center wheel — kept seated to protect its pipe, which carries the small through-jewel for the seconds-wheel arbor.

Lifting the Calendar Bridge

And now the long-awaited moment — the calendar. First the calendar bridge has to be freed and removed by backing out its three retaining screws. They are small; take care not to lose them.

A screwdriver at one of three small screws securing the calendar bridge on the dial side — Three small screws hold the calendar bridge. Each is easy to lose, so they go straight into a covered tray.

We lift the calendar bridge…

The calendar bridge being raised slightly off the mainplate with tweezers — Easing the bridge up. Working slowly here keeps the captive parts beneath from springing loose.

… and take it off the plate.

The calendar bridge fully removed and set beside the exposed calendar works — The bridge clear of the movement, exposing the date works it carries and protects.

The fine thing about Raketa movements is that the principal parts stay captive. Even the detent-lever spring does not simply fly off, and the lever itself rides on a post pressed into the calendar bridge. The one unsecured part is the manual date-correction sector — and that had stuck fast on thickened, gummy oil. We will lift it off now.

The underside of the calendar bridge showing the captive detent lever and its spring on a pressed-in post — Captive engineering: the detent lever and its spring stay put on the bridge. Only the date-correction sector is loose — and it had glued itself down with old oil.

And there we are. The bridge is apart. The correction sector is off, the spring is out, and… that spring. Look at it. Whoever serviced this caliber before me had, for some reason, fitted an R-shaped spring from the keyless works where a soft U-shaped spring belongs in the calendar. Well done indeed. The calendar was plainly working only by fits and starts. I would not be surprised to find the missing U-spring sitting in the keyless works, on the setting lever. When we get to the keyless works, we will see whether I am right.

The disassembled calendar bridge with the correction sector and a misshapen R-shaped spring laid out beside it — The culprit: a stiff R-shaped keyless spring fitted in place of the calendar's soft U-spring. A reliable recipe for an intermittent date.

Inside the Calendar

The calendar mechanism is now before us. We will lift off the number disc and…

The exposed calendar works with the printed number disc still in place over the mechanism — The date ring about to come off, the last cover over the instant-jump works.

… the calendar opens up in all its technical beauty and detail.

The full calendar mechanism revealed on the plate after the number disc is removed, levers and wheels visible — With the disc gone, the whole instant-date layout is laid bare — command wheel, accumulating spring and detent lever in their places.

For now we will simply remove the parts and save every nuance for the description of reassembly. One warning only: the calendar command wheel must be taken off with care, so as not to damage the accumulating spring. It is brittle, and a bent one is all but impossible to true again.

The removed calendar parts laid out on the bench — several wheels, the bridge, the date disc edge and small screws — The calendar parts taken down and set aside, the command wheel removed gently to spare its fragile accumulating spring.

The Keyless Works and Its Third Position

Now to the keyless works. Here the design departs from the standard arrangement, because the winding stem has not two but three switchable positions. The first two — winding the mainspring and setting the hands — are the usual detented stops. The third — date correction — is not detented: the stem is drawn further outward, advancing the date, and on release it returns automatically to the second position. Introducing that function meant reworking the intermediate setting lever, and adding a dedicated date-correction lever, which is visible here.

The keyless works on the dial side with the setting levers and the added date-correction lever in place — The three-position keyless works. The extra date-correction lever and a reworked intermediate lever give the stem its non-detented third pull.

We remove the date-correction lever. Watch how the intermediate lever shifts into the second position.

A loupe view of the keyless works with the date-correction lever lifted and the stem drawn outward — Taking off the correction lever and observing the intermediate lever drop back into the hand-setting position.

Now we take off the keyless cover spring and look at how far the stem can travel. And — remember that fateful spring fitted in the calendar? Here, behold: the U-shaped spring, sitting in the keyless works. Simply marvelous. No matter; we will put it right.

A loupe view of the keyless works with a red arrow pointing to the misplaced U-shaped spring — Confirmation of the swap: the soft U-spring turns up in the keyless works, exactly where the R-spring should have been. The previous repairer had transposed the two.

Let us examine the intermediate lever more closely. You can see that the part has gained a boss carrying a finger, on which the date-correction lever seats. I will try to show the action later, at assembly; for now we simply study the parts in detail.

Detailed view of the intermediate setting lever showing the added boss and its finger — The reworked intermediate lever: the small boss and its finger are what the date-correction lever rides on.

The intermediate lever from the reverse side. Here there is only the push-button pin, which we press to disengage the stem from the lever when drawing the stem out of the movement.

The reverse face of the intermediate lever under a loupe, showing the stem-release push-button pin — The reverse face, with the familiar stem-release pin — pressed to free the winding stem for removal.

And this is the accumulating spring. As we know, the calendar switches instantly, and the energy for that snap is stored precisely by this spring. Its tip ends in a beak that rides along a specially profiled cam on the calendar command wheel. We will look at this part in more detail during reassembly.

A loupe view of the plate with the slender accumulating spring in place, a red arrow marking its hooked beak — The accumulating spring still on the plate. Its beak storing tension against the command-wheel cam is what makes the date jump in an instant.

Down to the Bare Plate

That leaves only the center-wheel bridge to remove, the cannon pinion already being off. I took the cannon pinion off after all the calendar and hand-setting parts had been cleared.

The center-wheel bridge and center wheel being lifted from the otherwise bare mainplate — The center-wheel bridge comes off last, once the cannon pinion has been drawn — the order that keeps the center-wheel pipe safe.

The watch is now fully stripped and ready for cleaning.

All the movement components laid out together on a work surface, fully disassembled — Every part accounted for and ready for the cleaning bath.

There seemed to be little visible grime on the movement, yet after the parts went through it the benzine had taken on the color of the leaves outside the window, with debris drifting in it. Better there than on the components. With that, we can gradually begin reassembly.

A dish of cleaning benzine discolored after washing the parts, with fine debris floating in it — The cleaning fluid tells the truth: discolored and full of suspended dirt that is now out of the movement for good.

Ah, yes — how could we say nothing of the mainspring? Here it is, clean and tidy. Otherwise it might take offense at being passed over and snap out of sheer spite. And we would not want that — it has happened before.

A loupe view of the barrel with its mainspring fitted inside, the barrel lid lying beside it — The mainspring, washed and snug in its barrel — given its due so it keeps its temper, and its tension.

Rebuilding the Keyless Works

Now reassembly can begin. First we put together the sliding (castle) clutch.

The sliding pinion and castle clutch being assembled onto the winding stem — Assembly opens with the sliding clutch — the coupling that hands the stem from winding to setting.

We install the intermediate lever.

The intermediate setting lever being placed onto its post in the keyless works — The intermediate lever back on its post, ready to be coupled and tested.

We lubricate and check the action.

An oiler applying lubricant to the keyless works while the action is tested — A touch of oil at the working faces, then the stem is run through its positions to confirm a clean shift.

We install the setting lever and the correct R-shaped spring, and lubricate.

The setting lever and its proper R-shaped spring fitted into the keyless works — The R-spring restored to its rightful place on the setting lever — the first half of undoing the previous repairer's swap.

Before fitting the keyless cover spring, note a feature of its design. It differs from the cover in the 2609 and other non-calendar movements in this seemingly trivial protrusion. A little further on we will see just how important that small addition is.

The keyless cover spring held up to show a small protrusion on its edge — The calendar cover spring carries an extra tab absent from the 2609's. That small protrusion is the key to the stem's self-returning third position.

So, the cover is fitted, and the stem is in the winding position — the primary, first position.

The keyless cover in place with the stem pushed home in the winding position — Position one: the cover spring seated, the stem home, the movement ready to wind.

We switch the keyless works into hand-setting mode. This is the second detented position.

The stem pulled out to the first detented stop for hand setting, levers shifted accordingly — Position two: the stem at its first click, the levers moved over for hand setting.

And now the manual date-correction position. See where the finger of the intermediate lever has moved — it now rests on that very extra protrusion. Release the stem and ease off the pressure, and the spring's tab pushes against the intermediate lever's finger and returns it to position two. That is all there is to it. The keyless works are finished.

The stem drawn further out into the non-detented date-correction position, the intermediate lever finger on the cover-spring tab — Position three in action: pulled past the setting stop, the intermediate finger lands on the cover-spring tab, which then springs the stem back to position two on release.

The Going Train and Mainspring

Now we will quickly assemble the wheel train and the motor. The jewels get Moebius 8000. For a Raketa it is no extravagance — we mean to turn Cinderella into a princess.

A bottle of Moebius 8000 oil beside the bare mainplate ready for the train — Moebius 8000 at the ready. A premium mineral oil for the jewels — a small luxury this caliber repays.

A little oil on the center-wheel jewel.

An oiler placing a drop of oil on the center-wheel jewel in the mainplate — Charging the center-wheel jewel — the first bearing of the train to be lubricated.

Here is the center wheel. Time has left a few marks on it, but that is of no consequence. What matters is that the pivot surfaces are in perfect condition.

The center wheel held in tweezers, showing aged surfaces but clean pivots — The center wheel: cosmetically aged, mechanically sound. Pristine pivots are all that the bearing asks of it.

We install the center wheel.

The center wheel being set into its jewel on the mainplate — The center wheel seated in its freshly oiled jewel.

We install the center-wheel bridge.

The center-wheel bridge being lowered over the center wheel and screwed down — The center-wheel bridge back in place, capturing the center wheel before the cannon pinion goes on.

Next comes the cannon pinion.

The cannon pinion being pressed onto the center-wheel arbor — The cannon pinion driven onto the anchored center wheel — the reason the bridge went on first.

The pinion is in place.

The cannon pinion fully seated on the center-wheel arbor on the plate — Cannon pinion home, its grip on the center-wheel arbor set for reliable hand drive.

We grease the mainspring with B-1.

B-1 grease being applied to the coils of the mainspring — The mainspring dressed with B-1 grease — a braking lubricant suited to a heavily loaded spring, where Moebius 8000 would be wrong.

We assemble and install the barrel.

The assembled mainspring barrel being placed onto the mainplate — The barrel closed over its greased spring and set onto the plate.

A drop of oil on the carbide bushing of the barrel arbor.

An oiler applying a drop of oil to the hard-metal bushing of the barrel arbor — The barrel arbor's carbide bushing gets its drop of oil — a wear surface the factory hardened rather than jeweled.

We install the barrel bridge. Notice that the bridge has a recess giving access to the center-wheel-bridge screw. A small thing, but it pleases a watchmaker — it lets you do something even without a full teardown.

The barrel bridge fitted over the barrel, with a machined recess near a screw — The barrel bridge, with its thoughtful cutout that exposes the center-wheel-bridge screw for partial servicing.

We fit the crown wheel…

The crown wheel being placed over its seat on the barrel bridge — The crown wheel set on the barrel bridge, ready to mesh with the ratchet wheel.

… and move on to the train. First we install the intermediate wheel.

The intermediate (third) wheel being set into its jewel on the plate — The train goes in from the slow end first — the intermediate wheel into its bearing.

Then the seconds wheel. Its arbor receives Moebius 8000 — recall that it turns in the jewel set in the center-wheel pipe. A word aside: the mineral Moebius 8000 is a close equivalent of the Soviet MBP-12. It is used on the pallets, the escape wheel and the balance jewels, and it works very well in the train jewels too. Its one limitation is that it is not recommended for heavily loaded parts — the mainspring, the barrel arbor, the keyless works. And we will not use it there.

The central seconds wheel being installed, its long arbor entering the jewel in the center-wheel pipe — The seconds wheel, its arbor oiled with Moebius 8000 to run in the jewel buried in the center-wheel pipe.

And finally the escape wheel.

The escape wheel being placed into its pivot on the plate — The escape wheel completes the train, last in and lightest of the running wheels.

There they are — the three musketeers assembled. I always assemble the train in the 26xx.Н and .НА calibers with pleasure. Trouble never arises. The system is well thought out.

The intermediate, seconds and escape wheels all seated together on the plate — The running wheels together — a train that always goes in cleanly, a credit to the family's design.

Now the barrel bridge and the barrel-wheel click.

The barrel bridge and the click for the ratchet wheel being fitted — The click set against the ratchet wheel, locking the wound mainspring's tension into the train.

That is all for this side. We oil the train jewels, check the run-down, and turn to the slow side — the calendar. And that is the most interesting section of the story.

The train side complete, with the wheels oiled and ready for a run-down check — Train side finished and checked for a free run-down before the movement is flipped to the calendar.

Reassembling the Calendar

But before assembly begins, look at these jewels. There are three of them. They are the supports for the calendar's number disc — so-called non-functional jewels. They are present, but they are not counted in the caliber's stated jewel total. So the caliber reads as nineteen jewels, while in reality there are twenty-two. As you can see, the disc slides on these support jewels rather than on bare metal. And no, these jewels are not oiled.

Close view of three small support jewels set in the mainplate where the date disc rides — The three uncounted date-disc support jewels. They make the true count twenty-two against the marked nineteen — and they run dry.

The plate is ready to receive its parts. We begin.

The clean dial-side mainplate prepared for the motion and calendar works — The dial-side plate, cleaned and prepared for the motion work and the calendar.

We assemble the motion work of the hand-setting mechanism, installing the setting wheel and the minute wheel.

The setting wheel and minute wheel being installed in the motion work — The motion work going in — setting wheel and minute wheel, the link from cannon pinion to hour wheel.

Now, before we start on the calendar, we will break with the usual order a little and service the balance cap-jewel setting. Ordinarily the cap jewels are serviced with the balance in place. But in this particular case, once the calendar is assembled the access to that setting will be blocked by the calendar bridge. One could, in principle, fit the balance now — but working on a movement with the balance already mounted is, as they say, possible yet ill-advised. So we service the cap-jewel setting. We remove the lyre spring and the setting.

The lyre-shaped shock spring and the cap-jewel setting being removed from the balance bearing — Out of sequence by necessity: the shock setting is serviced now, because the calendar bridge will soon seal off access to it.

We send the oil-stuck unit into benzine, where it duly falls apart into the through-jewel in its chaton and the cap jewel. We rinse the parts in benzine.

The shock setting separated in cleaning fluid into the chaton-mounted through-jewel and the cap jewel — The benzine releases the gummed setting into its two stones — through-jewel and cap jewel — for a proper rinse.

We dry them, and place a drop of oil on the cap jewel.

A single drop of oil being placed on the balance cap jewel — The cap jewel charged with a measured drop — the reservoir that keeps the balance pivot fed.

We reassemble the setting and return it to its seat.

The reassembled cap-jewel setting being placed back into the balance bearing — The setting rebuilt and dropped back into its bore.

And we close the lyre. Done.

The lyre-shaped shock spring being clipped closed over the cap-jewel setting — The lyre spring snapped shut, the shock setting serviced and secured before the calendar buries it.

At last we can turn to the calendar proper. This arbor will carry the two-tier calendar wheel. Through it, force is transmitted from the hour wheel to the calendar command wheel at the necessary gear ratio.

A loupe view of the plate with a red arrow pointing to the arbor seat for the two-tier calendar wheel — The arbor for the two-tier calendar-drive wheel, which steps the hour wheel's motion down to the command wheel.

But first we set the command wheel in place. Here it is, seen from the cam side. The beak of the accumulating spring slides along this profiled edge. As it does, the stored force is metered out and the timely release of the jumper tooth — directly linked to the cam — is assured.

The command wheel from the cam side. The accumulating spring's beak tracks this profile, doling out tension toward the instant jump.

Here the command wheel is shown from the jumper-tooth side. Between the cam sector and the wheel's toothed rim there is free play, which provides for the release of the jumper tooth and the advance of the number disc by one step.

The command wheel from the opposite side showing the jumper tooth and its toothed rim — The same wheel from the jumper-tooth side. The deliberate lost motion between cam sector and rim is what lets the date snap forward a single increment.

We oil the command-wheel arbor and the beak of the accumulating spring.

An oiler lubricating the command-wheel arbor and the tip of the accumulating spring — Lubricating the command-wheel arbor and the spring's beak — the two surfaces that bear the snap-action load.

We install the command wheel. Its fitting has its own particulars. The wheel is set so that the cam, relative to the beak of the accumulating spring, sits in the position requiring the least deflection of the spring. Then we ease the spring aside with pegwood, just far enough for the wheel to drop fully onto its arbor and for the beak to come to rest on the cam track. Drawing the spring back any further is dangerous, for fear of breaking it — I spoke earlier of how fragile this part is. The very small red arrow shows how the beak of the accumulating spring and the cam of the command wheel should be positioned. And, incidentally, we put a little oil at the junction of these parts.

The command wheel being lowered into place with the accumulating spring eased aside by pegwood, a red arrow marking the beak position — Seating the command wheel: the cam oriented for minimum spring deflection, the beak coaxed onto its track. The red arrow marks the correct beak-to-cam relationship.

The calendar wheel system is assembled.

The assembled calendar wheel train on the plate, command wheel and drive wheel in place — The calendar gearing complete — command wheel, drive wheel and accumulating spring working together.

Now we install the correction lever that allows the disc to be advanced by hand.

The manual date-correction lever being placed into the calendar works — The manual correction lever added — the link that lets the third stem position step the date directly.

After the lever, we install the disc-correction sector. Before fitting the disc, it is advisable to place a tiny drop of oil on the plate where the sector sits. That fixes it in place so it will not shift when the number disc and the calendar bridge go on.

The date-correction sector being set onto the plate, a spot of oil holding it in position — The correction sector laid in and tacked down with a spot of oil so it stays put under the disc and bridge.

We lay the calendar number disc into place.

The printed date disc being placed over the calendar works on the plate — The number disc set onto its three support jewels, riding free of any metal.

We install the calendar bridge. As the bridge goes on, watch the position of the detent lever carefully, so that its locking tip falls between the teeth of the number disc. Miss that moment and, as the bridge screws are tightened, the disc teeth are easily damaged. Truing them is no easy task, and in some cases impossible.

The calendar bridge being lowered over the date disc with attention to the detent lever position — Refitting the bridge with the detent tip guided between the disc teeth — the one careless move that can ruin a date ring.

We check the free play of the disc and fit the U-shaped spring — the correct one, not the R-shaped spring that was there at the start — into its slot. Easy and simple. How can one not recall the perpetually collapsing Slava calendar at a moment like this?

The correct U-shaped calendar spring being placed into its slot in the calendar bridge — The proper U-spring finally in its groove — the second half of correcting the swap, and far less fuss than a Slava date works.

The spring is in place. Only its bend is visible through the window.

The fitted U-shaped spring, with only its curve showing through the date window aperture — Seated and discreet: nothing of the U-spring shows but the curve framed in the date aperture.

The calendar is assembled and tested. It works both automatically and in manual setting mode. All that remains here is to fit the hour wheel, the washer, the dial, and to dress the movement in a new case. Or cases — which we will do very shortly.

The completed dial-side movement with the calendar assembled, date ring fitted, on a holder — The finished calendar, proven in both automatic and hand-set modes — ready for hour wheel, shim and dial.

Balance, and a Finished Movement

Ah — are the balance and pallet fork fitted? Not yet. But that is quick work. And done. Yes, done it is — though who is going to service the cap-jewel setting? Never mind; I will not photograph it, the reader already knows that procedure.

The completed balance side of the movement on a holder, marked 2614.Н, fully assembled — Balance and pallet fork installed, the train running — the movement, stamped 2614.Н, brought back to life.

We are finished with the movement. All is well. Time to dress for the ball. Where is the appropriate attire? And what kind of ball would it be without a little gilt?

The gold-plated case with crystal, the white plastic locating ring, the running movement, and a gilt dial held in tweezers — Enter the gold-plated case. The serviced movement is about to be dressed for its first appearance, dial and all.

When fitting the dial, pay particular attention to this little ring. Without it the calendar will not work, because the dial will sit incorrectly. The ring is plastic and very fragile. Mine had to be glued.

The gilt dial face-down with the white plastic locating ring fitted to its back, beside the gold case and movement — The critical detail: the fragile plastic locating ring, here cemented to the back of the dial. Without it the dial sits wrong and the calendar fails.

The dial is in place. So are the hands. And moving it into the case is a matter of seconds — the case, after all, is the split, modular type.

The gilt dial fitted with hands beside the gold case middle and the old corroded caseback — Dial and hands mounted. Because the case is a two-part, separable design, recasing takes only moments.

Dressing the Movement: Two Cases, One Watch

There. Now we need only wait for the carriage and be off to the prince's ball.

The finished gold Raketa with Arabic-numeral dial staged on a white background beside porcelain doll and mouse figurines — The gold variant complete and presented — the modular case turning a salvaged movement into a finished watch.

And what comes next in the fairy tale? What is a tale without a bride and a wedding, and what bride is without a white gown? So we will exchange the gold attire for wedding white. That, admittedly, means swapping the dial, the hands and the crown head too — but with a case built like this it takes only minutes. I am no admirer of gold; after a brief experiment I chose to bring the watch to the look I am used to, the one that raises no dissonance. Glamour is all very well, but it is no longer quite my context.

The chrome-cased white version of the watch with a dark dial displayed on a stand — The white chrome configuration, built from the new old-stock service kit — the same movement in a quieter dress.

The chrome version resting at an angle on a black camera lens cap under low-key lighting — The steel-cased variant in profile, its slim 4.45 mm caliber giving the watch an easy, low stance on the wrist.

Three-quarter close-up of the chrome version with a dark dial against a black background — A closer study of the white version, the cushion-square case catching the light along its bevels.

The chrome version staged with a porcelain doll and a black lens cap on a dark surface — The finished white watch in a quieter still life — the wedding-white outfit the author favors.

In the end we got a little of the glamour promised at the outset, and even a small costume drama into the bargain. And since the white version is far more to my liking, that is the one we will keep. In this dress the watch suits a lady and a gentleman equally well — unisex. It seems this version is moving into the everyday rotation as a favorite.

The chrome version with a black Roman-numeral dial worn on the wrist over a grey sweater — The white version on the wrist — the configuration chosen for daily wear, equally at home on any wrist.

And should the mood take you, changing the gown is a minute's work.

The gold version with a black Roman-numeral dial worn on the wrist over a red sleeve — The same movement back in gold on the wrist — a reminder that with a split case the watch is two wardrobes in one.

A few dry figures from the manufacturer, to close. The 2614 movement is a 26 mm caliber, 4.45 mm in height, with nineteen ruby jewels — twenty-two in truth, counting the uncounted date-disc supports — a central seconds hand, shock protection for the balance staff, and an instant-action calendar showing the date. The balance is screwless, with a 0.4-second period of oscillation; the hairspring is flat, the stud-carrier movable. The power reserve from a full wind is not less than 40 hours, and the mean daily rate runs from +10 to −50 seconds. Modest numbers on paper — but a movement that, given a clean home and the right springs in the right slots, earns its place in the everyday rotation.