One of the reasons I enjoy restoring vintage watches is that every project teaches me something new. Whether it’s Swiss, Japanese or Chinese, each manufacturer has its own design philosophy. This time, I had the opportunity to service my first German watch—a vintage Junghans powered by the hand-wound Junghans J93/1 (Cal. 693.82) movement.

It turned out to be a fantastic learning experience. The movement wasn’t particularly complicated, but its architecture differed enough from the Swiss movements I’m more familiar with that it kept me thinking throughout the restoration.

A Brief History of Junghans

Founded in 1861 by Erhard Junghans in Schramberg, Germany, Junghans began as a clock manufacturer before expanding into pocket watches and wristwatches. By the early 1900s, it had grown into one of the world’s largest clock manufacturers, employing thousands of people and exporting timepieces around the globe.

Unlike many brands that relied heavily on outsourced movements, Junghans developed and manufactured many of its own calibres. Their watches became known for practical German engineering, reliability, and understated design rather than flashy luxury.

During the 1950s and 1960s, Junghans produced elegant dress watches like this one, reflecting the clean, functional styling that would later become associated with German industrial and Bauhaus-inspired design.

Today, Junghans is perhaps best known for its Max Bill collection, but its vintage mechanical watches remain excellent value for collectors looking for genuine in-house German watchmaking.

Dating the Watch

Dating vintage Junghans watches isn’t always straightforward because comprehensive serial number records aren’t publicly available.

Fortunately, the movement provides a good clue.

This watch uses the Junghans J93/1 (Calibre 693.82), an 8-jewel manual-wind movement produced between 1954 and 1966. The sector-style dial, dauphine hands, and chrome-plated dress case are all consistent with watches produced during the late 1950s to early 1960s, making that the most likely production period for this particular example.

It represents a classic era when affordable mechanical dress watches were becoming slimmer, cleaner, and more refined.

First Impressions

I picked up this Junghans as part of a bulk lot of vintage watches. To be honest, most of the watches in the lot weren’t particularly exciting—either they were heavily damaged, missing parts, or simply beyond economical repair. This Junghans immediately stood out as the most promising piece. It was complete, still running, and looked like it deserved a second chance.

I was already familiar with the Junghans name, mostly from reading about the iconic Max Bill collection. Those Bauhaus-inspired watches are probably what most enthusiasts think of today when someone mentions Junghans. This watch, however, was from an earlier era and had a completely different character.

What really caught my attention was the dial. After doing some research, I learned that this style is commonly referred to as a sector dial, or at least sector-style dial. I’m no expert on dial classifications, but the concentric rings and separate minute track certainly fit the description. Combined with the applied hour markers, dauphine hands, and red central seconds hand, it has a clean yet distinctive mid-century look that I found very appealing.

The hands, however, needed much more attention. The hour and minute hands had developed surface rust, while the red paint on the central seconds hand had chipped away and somehow spiralled inside the watch.

Condition-wise, the watch had certainly lived a full life.

The acrylic crystal was so heavily scratched that the dial was difficult to appreciate. The chrome-plated case showed significant wear, with areas where the plating had peeled away, exposing the brass underneath.

The stainless steel case back had accumulated plenty of scratches over the decades, including the inevitable “idiot marks” left by someone who had clearly attacked the snap-on case back with the wrong tool.

The original leather strap looked equally tired. It had become dry and brittle from age, but surprisingly it was still structurally intact. Rather than replacing it immediately, I wondered whether it might be possible to bring it back to life. At that point I wasn’t entirely sure how, but it seemed like a good opportunity to learn another restoration skill alongside servicing the watch itself.

Despite all of its cosmetic flaws, I could already see the watch’s potential. Underneath the scratches, worn plating, and faded hands was a charming vintage German dress watch that was well worth the effort to restore.

Exploring My First German Movement

With the watch photographed, it was time to see what was hiding inside.

The first surprise came before I even opened the case.

Like most vintage watches, I expected to remove the strap by compressing the spring bars with a spring bar tool. Instead, I discovered that Junghans had used a completely different system. The spring bars appeared to be permanently wedged into the lugs, leaving no obvious way to remove them.

After a closer look, I realised the leather strap itself was designed to come apart. Small metal clips secured the strap around the fixed bars, allowing the strap to be removed without touching the spring bars at all. It reminded me of the fixed wire lugs found on old trench watches and military watches. It was my first encounter with this style of attachment and an interesting introduction to German watchmaking.

With the strap out of the way, opening the watch was much more straightforward. Like many snap-back cases, it was simply a matter of locating the small opening in the case back and carefully working a case knife into the gap.

Inside sat the Junghans J93/1 (Cal. 693.82) movement.

The dial had developed an attractive, even patina over the years. It wasn’t perfect, but it had aged gracefully and retained plenty of character. The hands, however, showed the effects of moisture. The hour and minute hands had developed surface rust, while the once-vibrant red paint on the central seconds hand had chipped and faded badly. It was clear that these would need some careful cosmetic work later in the restoration.

With the dial safely protected, I began disassembling the movement.

Although this is a relatively simple hand-wound calibre, I immediately noticed that the movement architecture wasn’t quite what I was used to. The overall layout, the keyless works, and several design choices felt distinctly different from the Swiss and Japanese movements I’ve serviced previously. None of the differences made the movement more difficult to work on—they simply reflected a different engineering philosophy.

The first surprise was the click mechanism.

On most movements I’m familiar with, the click that prevents the ratchet wheel and mainspring from unwinding is located on the train side of the movement. On the Junghans J93/1, however, the click is mounted on the dial side. Before the movement could be safely dismantled, I first had to remove the dial and hands, then carefully hold the click away from the ratchet wheel while slowly letting the mainspring unwind. It wasn’t difficult, just unexpected, and a good reminder that not every manufacturer follows the same blueprint.

The next feature that caught my attention was the keyless works.

Instead of using the more familiar arrangement with a separate setting lever spring, yoke, and individual components, Junghans designed a much more integrated mechanism. A single retaining plate secures the entire keyless works assembly, including three gears. One of those gears slides back and forth as the stem is pulled, selecting between the winding and hand-setting functions.

As someone still learning watchmaking, I found it rewarding to recognise a design I’d seen before. The barrel arrangement reminded me of the Felsa 4000N I had recently serviced, where the ratchet wheel also sits above the barrel with the winding components below. It’s a small detail, but moments like this make me feel like I’m gradually building a mental library of movement designs rather than treating every watch as something completely new.

I didn’t remove the mainspring from the barrel during this service. The watch was already running before the restoration, the barrel arbor felt smooth, and I didn’t see any signs that the mainspring needed replacing. Rather than risk distorting an original mainspring unnecessarily, I cleaned the barrel externally and left the mainspring undisturbed. It’s always a balance between carrying out a thorough service and preserving original components when they’re still functioning well.

It’s an elegant piece of engineering. There are fewer individual springs and levers to fly across the workbench, and once you understand how everything interacts, the mechanism is surprisingly logical. It was simply different from what I had become accustomed to.

Cleaning and Assembly

The biggest challenge came during reassembly.

After putting the keyless works back together, I found that the setting lever wasn’t lining up correctly with the winding stem. The stem simply refused to engage smoothly no matter how carefully I inserted it.

That meant taking everything apart again, inspecting each component, and trying once more. It’s still not perfect but and I suspect having the same issue again when I remove the stem, it’s still a puzzle I have to solve, but I’m leaving it like that for now.

Bringing the Hands Back to Life

The hands also needed attention.

Years of moisture had left the hour and minute hands with light surface rust. After carefully polishing them, they looked significantly better while still retaining their original appearance.

Unfortunately, the luminous material on the minute hand had become extremely brittle over the years. During cleaning, a small amount detached from the hand. While it’s always disappointing to lose original material, deteriorated vintage lume sometimes simply can’t survive restoration.

The biggest visual improvement came from the seconds hand.

Originally painted in bright red, much of the enamel had chipped away and faded over the decades. I carefully repainted the hand to restore its original colour, and it immediately became one of the standout features of the watch once again.

The Finishing Touches

To complete the restoration, I installed a brand new acrylic crystal, dramatically improving the clarity of the dial.

The original leather strap looked like it had seen better days. It was stiff, dry, and covered in years of accumulated dirt, but it was still intact. Since I enjoy preserving original parts whenever possible, I decided to see if it could be saved.

The first step was simply giving it a good wash using warm water and a little mild soap. It might sound counterintuitive to wash old leather with water, but my goal was to remove decades of grime before attempting to condition it. After a gentle scrub and a thorough rinse, I left it to dry completely.

While researching ways to revive old leather, I came across discussions about traditional leather treatments using animal fats, particularly tallow, which has been used for centuries to soften and preserve leather. I didn’t have any tallow on hand, so I improvised with something I already had—a tub of the Vaseline petroleum jelly.

I worked a generous layer of petroleum jelly into both sides of the strap and left it to soak in for about two days. After wiping away the excess, I was pleasantly surprised by the result. The leather had become noticeably softer and more flexible without losing its vintage appearance. It certainly wasn’t restored to “as new” condition, but it was once again comfortable enough to wear and, more importantly, it remained the original strap that had accompanied the watch for decades.

There was still one small issue.

The strap had a faint old smell that I couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t the typical musty odour you sometimes find with vintage leather, but it was noticeable enough that I wanted to try removing it. Rather than introducing more chemicals, I placed the strap into a small sealed jar filled with baking soda, making sure the strap wasn’t buried in it, and left it there for another couple of days. Baking soda is often used to absorb unwanted odours, and it did seem to reduce the smell without affecting the leather itself.

This was actually my first attempt at restoring a vintage leather strap, and I was genuinely impressed by how much life could be brought back with a bit of patience. It reinforced something I’ve been learning with these restorations: sometimes an original component just needs a little care rather than being replaced.

Final Thoughts

This restoration reminded me why I enjoy working on watches from different countries.

Every manufacturer has its own engineering philosophy, and servicing this Junghans gave me a greater appreciation for German watchmaking. It wasn’t the most complicated movement I’ve worked on, but it introduced me to a different way of thinking about movement design and gave me another set of lessons to add to my growing experience.

With its elegant sector-style dial, restored red seconds hand, fresh crystal, and newly serviced in-house movement, this little Junghans has become one of my favourite restorations.

It may be my first German watch, but I have a feeling it won’t be my last.