I had completely forgotten about this movement. It had been sitting in a box right under my nose all this time. I’m a bit embarrassed that it’s only now, in my hundredth blog post, that I’m mentioning it. After writing for over two years and publishing 99 articles, this Soviet 7275 movement is finally getting its moment in the spotlight. Well, better late than never, I suppose.
This movement comes from a Soviet stopwatch. If I remember correctly, I inherited it from my grandparents a few years ago, already damaged. It had been sitting unused in their drawer until I asked if I could have it. Since it wasn’t working, they agreed. While it may not have been the first mechanical movement I ever encountered, it was likely the first time I held one up close. Naturally, before I owned any proper watchmaking tools, I attempted to revive it, blissfully unaware of its true issues: a worn-out mainspring, a missing screw for the escapement bridge, and likely some damage I caused myself while tinkering with the balance.
Though restoring this stopwatch to working order may be a long shot, it remains an excellent opportunity to practice disassembling and reassembling mechanical movements.
As seen in the first photo, the stopwatch crystal is bent—something heavy must have fallen on it at some point, though we’ll never know what. The winding mechanism is broken, the balance wheel barely moves, and while the gear train moves freely without the escapement wheel, the overall functionality is nonexistent. To fully restore it, I’d need to find a replacement screw for the escapement bridge, a new mainspring, reapply oil to all moving parts, and repair the hairspring and balance wheel—something I haven’t yet figured out how to do.
For now, however, this movement is perfect for practice. My last attempt at reassembly didn’t end well, so tackling something more straightforward is crucial for rebuilding my confidence. Thankfully, at 43mm, this movement posed far fewer challenges than the smaller ones I’ve worked on.
This 7275 movement features two bridges: the escapement bridge and a center bridge that doubles as the barrel bridge. Unlike my last project, which required aligning five pivot points, this one required only three. Even better, all three wheels were seated securely on their jewels, meaning no extra alignment was needed after installing the bridge. I did have to make a small adjustment to the escapement wheel, but nothing significant.
The dial side, however, was trickier. As you can see in the photos, I couldn’t remove five screws securing three springs, even with my largest screwdriver. Since this project was about practice rather than restoration, I decided to leave them in place. While the springs made reassembly slightly more challenging, it was manageable.
Looking back, I can see how practice with my earlier movements—especially the first one I received as a birthday gift—has paid off. Not only am I much more confident with gear trains, but I also have a solid understanding of where each part belongs. That’s a satisfying milestone, especially since I’ve been working without exploded-view diagrams for guidance.
While my second movement ended up as spare parts, this 7275 won’t share the same fate. It will remain a valuable tool for further practice, alongside my first movement.
I’m genuinely pleased that my hundredth blog post is watch-themed. It feels fitting, almost symbolic, to mark this milestone with a reflection on the craft I love.
Kindly,
Olaaf
