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I suspect I’m not the only one who quietly asks these questions. Especially when we see “Swiss Made” sitting below the Hamilton name, even as the brand continues to draw from imagery of mid-century Americana, aviation milestones, and silver screen nostalgia. It feels like a brand with one foot planted in the present, another reaching back towards a home that no longer exists. And yet, that complexity is part of its charm.
Let’s rewind properly.
Hamilton’s story begins not in 1892, as most brochures suggest, but much earlier, back in 1874. That’s when a company called Adams & Perry first set up shop on Columbia Avenue in Lancaster. But things didn’t go smoothly. Infighting between its founders over whether to import escapements or make them in-house led to delays, and the company folded within two years. What followed was a carousel of reincarnations: Lancaster Watch Company, Keystone Standard Watch Company, and eventually Hamilton itself—named not for some lofty symbolism, but for the city’s founding father, James Hamilton.
It wasn’t until Charles Rood and Henry Cain took the reins—merging the bankrupt Keystone operation with machinery and know-how from the Aurora Watch Company in Illinois—that real momentum began. They weren’t just dreamers; they were shrewd businessmen who spotted the growing need for timekeeping accuracy across America’s expanding railroad network. And they went all in.
By 1893, Hamilton had launched the Grade 936—a pocket watch of such reliability that it quickly earned the brand the nickname “The Watch of Railroad Accuracy.” But this wasn’t marketing fluff. Back then, trains colliding because of timekeeping discrepancies wasn’t just a hypothetical—it was a real danger. Conductors, engineers, and inspectors depended on watches that could be trusted to the second. Hamilton delivered with movements that lost no more than half a minute per week, and by the early 20th century, more than half of the railroad-grade watches in circulation bore the Hamilton name.
Their designs weren’t just precise—they were legible and purposeful. The now-iconic Montgomery Dial, developed by railway time inspector Henry S. Montgomery, made its mark with oversized numerals and a full 60-minute index. Easy to read. Hard to misread. It was functional art, and it’s still coveted by collectors today.
But Hamilton didn’t stand still. They innovated with a lever-setting system that met emerging railroad standards—less convenient than the usual crown-set method, but far more secure against accidental changes. They weren’t following the curve; they were drawing it.
Then came the World Wars.
During WWI, Hamilton transitioned from producing pocket watches to crafting rugged wristwatches for soldiers in the trenches. These weren’t just off-the-shelf pieces—they were repurposed pocket watch calibres housed in toughened, wrist-wearable cases. Some early trench watches had wire lugs soldered onto existing pocket watch cases. Crude by today’s standards, yes—but they got the job done. Infantrymen needed both hands free. And when they returned home, many brought those wristwatches with them. The style stuck. Hamilton quickly adapted, launching its first men’s wristwatch range in 1919, just as the pocket watch was beginning to fade into history.
The interwar years were a golden age for Hamilton. In 1926, Admiral Byrd timed his historic North Pole flight with a Hamilton on board. A few years later, the brand became the official watch supplier to America’s four major airlines, well before aviation branding became a trend for Swiss Maisons. Meanwhile, back on the ground, Hamilton had acquired the Illinois Watch Company and was producing some truly beautiful Art Deco designs—pieces like the Piping Rock, Glendale, and Pinehurst. They even experimented with naming watches after case shapes: Tonneau, Oval, Rectangular. Form did meet function.
But perhaps the real pinnacle was World War II.
Hamilton halted all civilian production and threw everything into the war effort. Over a million watches were made for the U.S. military. These weren’t just robust field watches either—they also developed marine chronometers with anti-magnetic shielding and hacking seconds. Tools of war, designed with precision and integrity. And unlike some brands that claim military roots with only tangential links, Hamilton truly earned its stripes. Their watches helped soldiers navigate, survive, and synchronise operations in some of history’s most brutal theatres.
It’s hard to overstate how revered they were during this time. This, many would argue, was the true heart of Hamilton. No fluff. No nostalgia. Just utility meeting excellence.
But the post-war years brought different challenges. Hamilton, like so many mechanical watchmakers, was blindsided by the Quartz Crisis. Japanese brands surged forward with inexpensive, high-accuracy quartz watches, and America’s once-proud horological firms crumbled like dominoes. But Hamilton didn’t vanish. Not quite.
They pivoted. In 1966, they’d already acquired the Swiss brand Buren, hoping to leverage its micro-rotor technology. That gave Hamilton early access to Swiss manufacturing and a foot inside the door before quartz truly destabilised the industry. By 1971, they’d moved all production out of the U.S. entirely. And by 1974, they were absorbed into what would become the Swatch Group.
Which brings us to the paradox of today’s Hamilton.
It’s a fully Swiss-made brand now. Swiss movements. Swiss manufacturing. Swiss headquarters. The Lancaster factory is long gone, and not a single part of a modern Hamilton is made in America. Yet the advertising still clings to that American identity. Vintage fighter planes. Railroad heritage. Interstellar’s Murph. Elvis and the Ventura. It’s all there—but it’s memory, not manufacturing.
So, where does that leave us?
Well, let’s talk modern Hamilton. The brand is mostly powered by modified ETA movements, like the H-10—a tweaked ETA 2824-2 that trades beat rate for power reserve, giving you 80 hours. Same goes for the H-30 and H-40 (based on day-date 2836 calibres), and their chronograph cousins, the H-21 and H-31, built from Valjoux architecture. These are good movements. Honest. Dependable. But proprietary? Not quite.
Where Hamilton still shines is in design execution. The Khaki Field range is adored for a reason. Especially the mechanical versions with the H-50 calibre—another slowed-down ETA variant, but one that feels perfectly at home in a simple, rugged tool watch. The Murph taps into cinematic iconography without selling out, and the Ventura—love it or hate it—is a genuine slice of horological rebellion. The 1957 original was the world’s first electric watch. That wasn’t a borrowed idea. That was Hamilton innovating.
Price-wise, they hit a sweet spot. For £400 to £1,200, you’re getting a handsome, well-built watch with Swiss guts and American-inspired soul. The chronographs creep toward £1,800, perhaps a little more, and at that level, the spec sheet starts to feel a little stretched. But value is still there. You’re paying for heritage, yes—but also for solid steel, sapphire crystals, and the reassurance that what’s inside won’t let you down.
Still, that nagging question remains: can Hamilton keep waving the American flag when its roots are now Swiss-soiled? There’s no Lancaster anymore. No American jobs are tied to its output. No boots on the factory floor stateside. Just a memory of what once was—packaged, polished, and sold to the world.
Does it matter?
That depends entirely on what you’re looking for. If you want American design interpreted through Swiss precision, Hamilton delivers. If you want an American-made watch? You’ll need to look elsewhere—brands like RGM or Weiss are where that reality lives today. But if you want a sturdy, stylish, historically rich timepiece that won’t bankrupt you or bore you, then Hamilton is still punching well above its weight.
For me, it remains a brand I feel oddly protective of. I wear them. I appreciate them. I admire the journey, even if I sometimes question the destination. And yes—I still catch myself glancing at the logo and thinking, “How long can they keep this story going?”
Still, I wouldn’t rule out adding another one or two to my collection. And perhaps next time, I’ll put one through its paces properly and let you know how it holds up, head to head with the memory of what it once was.
There’s much more to come in this story. In the next part, I’ll take us through Hamilton’s fascinating Second World War years and how those watches became both the tools of heroes and the quiet foundation of what the brand would later become.
Coming soon: A detailed look at some of Hamilton’s timepieces through the years.
