Discover the strange story of spy watches and concealed cameras. From 19th-century England to James Bond, explore the wonders of technology in disguise that pretend to be ordinary watches.
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For fans of spy novels, James Bond − also known as Agent 007 − is a legend, as are all the characters that feature in his adventures. As an engineer, I have always been fascinated by Q, the ingenious inventor of countless gadgets that appear to be one thing but are actually something else, saving Bond from seemingly impossible situations. These are everyday objects that appear normal but have other functions and capabilities. Who would pay attention to a watch worn by a distinguished gentleman? In fact, even Bond’s watches were never ordinary timepieces. But were these spy watch cameras an invention of Ian Fleming’s, or did they really exist?
A bit of history
As with many good ideas, the concept of concealing a device within a common object has ancient origins. Walking stick enthusiasts will be familiar with the hidden sword canes, that conceal a blade or similar items. I have personally seen one that contained an entire surveyor’s kit!
While skilled craftsmen sometimes hid watches in unexpected places, such as inside a gold coin (see here), shortly after the invention of photography, someone had the idea of creating ‘secret’ cameras. Of course, it was unthinkable to hide a camera from that era, given its size. Therefore, no one could have imagined that a gentleman checking the time was actually photographing his surroundings.
When Lancaster was the name of Q
Searching through archives often yields unexpected results. When it comes to spy watch cameras, Great Britain appears to hold the record. The inventor managed to insert a functioning bellows camera, complete with a micro-plate image support, into the case of an ordinary pocket watch. This invention was patented in the United Kingdom at the end of the 19th century.
An advertisement by the Lancaster Company from 1893 mentions an ‘advanced’ model, which was clearly an improvement on an earlier version. According to its catalogues, the Birmingham-based company J. Lancaster & Son offered a variety of models, including a smaller ladies’ version.
A small case accompanied the spy watch camera, allowing the wearer to carry a couple of spare plates. As you can imagine, these were extremely delicate objects. Of particular note is the example that was auctioned by Bonhams in 2007 and can be seen in the image gallery. I’m not easily impressed, but I was left speechless by that high-quality piece.
The lesser copy
Meanwhile, people in the United States were attempting to create something similar that was less refined but more affordable. In 1894, John Hegelein filed a patent in New York, essentially claiming ownership of outright plagiarism.
It was, in fact, a poor imitation of Lancaster’s spy watch camera. Neither the case nor the mechanics could compete with the English original. However, thanks to the low selling price of 5 dollars (equivalent to about 750 euros today) and the fact that local products were not subject to customs duties, making imported items much more expensive, Hegelein managed to produce a number of copies.
The American response: Ticka and Expo
Moving on from one rarity to another, we now present two true legends. Both are American in design, but were developed industrially in both the United States and England. In fact, they are two children of the same father.
While Lancaster was creating his miniature masterpieces, a Swedish inventor named Magnus Niéll patented his own pocket watch camera in New York in 1904. The previous year, he had filed and obtained a patent for the same idea in the United Kingdom under the trade name ‘Ticka’, a play on the word ‘tick’ meaning ‘click’. Its slogan was ‘Every tick, a photo’. The Ticka was a remarkable success and continued to be manufactured until around 1914. The British manufacturer Houghton Company Ltd hired Niéll to benefit from his inventiveness and skills.
In fact, the American-based Expo Camera Company was founded and it produced the Expo in many different versions, all of which were still based on Niéll’s patent. These cheaper, modern versions were much less delicate than their predecessors and much more successful. They continued to be produced in large quantities until the end of the First World War, with various developments being made along the way.
Some models were produced until 1935, even after the company was acquired by a new owner. They are recognisable by their colourful appearance and are highly sought after by enthusiasts as they are very rare.
Japanese replicas
In the 1960s, the industrial capabilities of Japan were underestimated, and it was often said that the Japanese copied everything. However, we later had to acknowledge their technical and industrial prowess, which set a benchmark in the West. When it comes to camera watches, however, plagiarism must be acknowledged.
This occurred in the 1910s, shortly after the launch of Ticka and Expo. A mysterious agent (commercial, not secret!) was hiding behind the name of a phantom Japanese company called the T.U. Camera Company. This company produced replicas of the original Expo cameras and sold them under the name ‘Moment’. These items are extremely rare, not least because they were produced in very small numbers.
Did they work?
Having seen the designs and objects, we might wonder whether these fake watches were capable of taking photographs beyond an amateur level. It is reasonable to ask whether they would have been useful for people wanting to undertake industrial espionage, for example. The answer is yes.
The photographs were, of course, black and white, but the quality of the images obtained still impresses us more than a hundred years later, as can be seen in the gallery. This may make us smile, given how accustomed we are to immortalising even ice cream with our mobile phones. But at the time, it was truly remarkable.
In recent times
When the spy watch camera was invented, the pocket watch was an indispensable accessory for every gentleman. However, over time, things changed. Nowadays, anyone who takes a watch out of their waistcoat pocket, even an authentic one, will attract attention. As we know, a spy’s primary duty is to go unnoticed. Concealing a camera in a wristwatch was therefore necessary. This was an even more difficult mission.
Another camera disguised as a watch appeared in the post-war period: the wrist spy watch camera. This model was produced by the Steineck Kamerawerk company in Tutzing, Bavaria, not far from Starnberg in what was then West Germany. The year was 1948; the inventor was the engineer Rudolph Steineck; and the model was named A-B-C.
It had no viewfinder, recorded images on a special disc and required expertise to operate. The user could only press a button to take a photo, so the camera had to be pointed in the right direction by intuition. Production ceased in 1951.
However, spy watch cameras were not actually watches. Or were they?
It is now the 1970s, and the Cold War is in full swing. The CIA’s Office of Technical Services (OTS) sent Seiko a very special request. The Japanese brand’s technicians were tasked with modifying their latest generation of electronic wristwatches to incorporate an existing micro-camera created for special purposes. It was almost like a challenge.
The Japanese responded by going far beyond mere imitation, showcasing their design ingenuity in the process. The result is a standard watch that finally tells the time − but with a secret. Turning the bezel makes the elegant dial turn too, and the window that previously displayed the hours and minutes now reveals the microscopic camera lens. Taking a photo requires only the press of the button at 4 o’clock.
The device had many limitations. Essentially, it could only focus on objects between 30 and 50 centimetres away. It was designed to allow classified documents to be discreetly copied while sitting in a library with your elbow on the table and your watch on display.
One of its distinctive features was its complete silence, meaning it could also be used during meetings or in rooms where there were other people or microphones present. It was fitted with a roll that allowed up to 100 high-resolution shots, and it was indistinguishable from a standard Seiko watch.
So, what was James Bond wearing?
In a scene from the 1977 film The Spy Who Loved Me, Bond receives an unusual message. The text is embossed on a ribbon that emerges from his wristwatch in real time − much like the classic Dymo labels, for those of us who are a slightly older generation.
This message, from M – the legendary director of the organisation – tells Bond to report immediately to headquarters. The tape reads: “007 to report to HQ. Immediate M”. The watch? It was a Seiko. For the record, it was a Seiko 0874-5009 quartz LC model.
From that moment on, the inimitable spy in the service of Her Majesty wore Seiko watches in many films. Considering that James Bond also wore Rolex, Omega and other Swiss brands, it’s interesting to find Seiko in such distinguished company. Not that this takes anything away from the Japanese brand. Perhaps there’s some truth in what an old friend of mine, who was very knowledgeable in this field, used to say: ‘Sometimes, in movies, there are messages…’
