Let us begin our discussion about Bremont, and what’s happened to it, by slightly pretentiously quoting the English poet G.K. Chesterton, and specifically his masterpiece “The Secret People”.
“They have given us in to the hands of the new, unhappy Lords
“Lords without anger or honour who dare not carry their swords.
“They fight by shuffling papers. They have bright, dead alien eyes,
“And they look on our labour and laughter as a tired man looks on flies.
“The load of their loveless pity is worse than the ancient wrongs.
“Their doors are closed in the evening, and they know no songs.”
Old G.K. wasn’t thinking about British luxury watch-making when he wrote that, but nonetheless he’s nailed where Bremont now is. The special, and there was lots of it, has been surgically removed by a group of men with designer spectacles who, to borrow from Radiohead (another product of the English public school system, just like Bremont) “talk in maths”.
Bremont: once the darling of men standing about in musty waxed-cotton jackets at classic car events, or on cold British airfields. Started by brothers Nick and Giles English (was ever a surname better suited?) – who are both aviation, classic car and bike nuts – in 2002, it became a niche powerhouse of luxury watches.
These days company names are born of focus groups and marketing agencies staffed by men wearing loafers with no socks. Where did Bremont’s name come from? Well, during the 1990s while flying their 1930s biplane over France the English brothers got into trouble and had to land in a field. Not wishing to get the authorities involved, they were met by the farm owner who gave them and the aircraft shelter. It turned out he had flown during the war and was an engineer. The brothers promised him they would never forget him. His name was Antoine Bremont.
Shove that up your mood board.
For a time if you were where Bremont resonated you were likely sitting on the bonnet of a lightweight E-Type at Bicester Heritage trying to stop a spaniel climbing in to your lap (whilst its embarrassed owner insisted it never normally did that).
Now? You’d be surfing LinkedIn. What a catastrophe this has been since the English brothers sold up and VC-backed watch investors moved in.
A quick recap, here. Bremont made tool and sports watches, mostly aviation focussed but also marine. They had a drive to bring watch-making back to the UK (as in properly back) and the cost of building facilities to do that and chasing in-house, UK-built movements (they never quite caught them) meant they were shedding money. They didn’t need to, they could have just focussed on the marketing and swerved the substance, but they did the opposite and that did for them in the end.
They did some special things.
Their USP was COSC-certified watches using a unique three-piece case design. That was created by one of the great, but criminally under-known, names in watch-making – Peter Roberts. He can now be found running a little horology universe of a shop in with his son in southern England. Trained by the best in Switzerland, he’s a bona fide genius.
In to this they poured some style. Links with Jaguar cars, Norton motorcycles, the Enigma codebreakers, Stephen Hawking, Martin Baker ejector seats…basically a cool Who’s Who of Englishness.
For a while they rode the wave. Sales grew, prices were high, they were in all the right stores and boutiques (including their own in Manhattan and Mayfair).
But the determination to bring full watchmaking back to the UK – laudable, perhaps misguided – saw the money from this burnt like kindling. A 35,000 sq ft facility at Henley-on-Thames in Oxfordshire – “The Wing” – probably acted as the decanter of whisky (this was old Bremont, it will have been decanted) and revolver in the library.
So the English brothers had to sell whilst there was something still worth selling, and they did.
Fairly swiftly the new owners installed some folk who’d been around the upper echelons of mid-ranking Swiss makers and hired an expensive marketing agency. What followed was a reduction in price and quality, the jettisoning of all that made Bremont unique from the propeller logo to the cases, and acres of the most toe-curling marketing spaff you’ve ever read. It’s so bad I’m not going to even cite any here in case my MacBook takes its own life on a point of honour.
The crime is that what now defines Bremont doesn’t actually define Bremont, it defines (and describes) any mid-ranking small watch-maker. It’s watch-marketing bought by the yard, like illiterate rich people buy books they’ll never read for their houses.
Bremont has gone from the oddball aristo trying to keep the grand house and estate going after seven generations to the company which bought it and turned it in to a hotel and spa, complete with championship golf course and no soul.
There won’t be another British watchmaker like Bremont; one that moves beyond the mass-mid-market to the world occupied by Omega and Rolex. There’s just middle of the road or ultra wonderful high-end like Roger Smith (£350,000 a go to you Sir, if you’d like to join the waiting list).
But there remain original new English brothers-era Bremonts to buy until stock is gone and my advice is to do so. In a few years the brand name might not be what it was, but those very special watches from that period will be. If you buy watches for you, rather than for what other people think of them, you should do just that and raise a glass to Giles and Nick English and Peter Roberts.
And by way of a small post-script, where can you find the English brothers now? In Birmingham mostly, trying to revive Yard-O-Led, one of England’s most innovative and proudest pen makers. Go there, it’s better.
The Little Machines 