Bubu: The Final Passage of a Swiss Combat Diver’s Doxa

When I visited Dubai a few months ago, a friend of mine pulled me aside and said, “I want to introduce you to someone; he has an important watch story that he wants to tell, but needs to do it in a respectful manner that honors an old friend.” I was intrigued, and over coffee, I heard this story. It’s an emotional one about an old Swiss military diver's last days on earth and his legacy honored through a watch. I often say that in our community, it's never just a watch, and this tale embodies that sentiment.

The author is well known in the watch community, but has asked to remain anonymous.

From a horological deep dive to unexpectedly becoming the steward of a former Swiss Combat Diver's issued Doxa Sub 300T.

By Anonymous

It's only natural that we, as human beings, want to be remembered after we die. Which is why Patek Philippe's universally celebrated ad campaign continues to hit so close to home: we indeed only get to "look after it for the next generation", regardless if 'it' were to be a mechanical Seiko 5 that got passed down from a granddad to his grandson, a Rolex bought to celebrate a child's birth, or a priceless Patek pocket watch that has been handed down from one generation to another.

No other object is a better representation of the merciless passage of time than a mechanical watch, and, with a lifetime's memories attached to it, sometimes does not even have to be in working condition to do so:

"I am a former Swiss combat diver and have found a (unfortunately broken) watch in my belongings. Is that something that interests you?" were the first two lines of an unusually short e-mail that I had received out of the blue in November 2024. No “hi, I found you through…”, just straight to the point. I would later learn that the reason for the brevity was that this old diver’s time on Earth was rapidly coming to an end. 

Obviously, interest didn't even come close to describing the excitement I felt in this moment: I had been covering and looking into, on and off, the story of the first and, so far, only officially issued wristwatch for the Swiss military for quite some time. Which meant that by the time I opened this particular e-mail, I had already discussed the topic online (which is how this particular diver eventually found me), and was basically able to recreate the entire story of both Switzerland's first combat diver unit, and, more importantly, of the dive watches they were entrusted with during the short time of their service.

For me, it all started in the early 2000s, when I learned not only about the existence of these watches, but that one of them almost got destroyed during decommission. A year later, that same watch miraculously appeared on the market, which in turn allowed me to see one in person for the first time, and, more importantly, take photos to eventually start documenting their story.

Swiss Army Combat Divers during a demonstration in 1969. (Photo Credit: Kurt Peter)

In the years that followed, I would get to meet with a few former members and even the physician assigned to this unit (who ironically had felt like an outsider for decades, because he was 'only' given a Doxa Army, instead of one of the numbered Sub 300T Professionals with a bright orange dial). At one point, I found myself in a meeting room of the Musée international d'horlogerie (MIH) in La Chaux-de-Fonds, witnessing the moment the museum had been gifted one of those watches for its collection, and I somehow managed to get access to a closed military museum during COVID to take pictures of the rest of the equipment the divers were using.

Switzerland & the Cold War - The National Redoubt

During most of the Cold War, Switzerland’s Armed Forces were organized in a way that up to 880,000 soldiers and reservists could be instantly mobilized to defend the “country and people against a military attack.” Around 100 of them were trained to become combat divers, as 4% of Switzerland's surface area is covered by water.

A Swiss artillery installation disguised among the mountains as part of the country’s National Redoubt system of fortifications.

Switzerland’s defensive plan back then consisted of a nearly impregnable complex of fortifications that would have denied an aggressor passage over or through the Alps by controlling the major mountain passes and railway tunnels running north-to-south through the region. At its peak, the Swiss defensive network also involved roughly 2,000 separate structures like bridges (hence the need for divers) and tunnels fitted with explosives. Some Rhine bridges were disarmed only in 2014.

Though the Swiss Military is much smaller in size today (numbering 140,000 personnel in 2020), military service is still compulsory for Swiss men, and soldiers usually keep their own personal equipment, including all personally assigned weapons (which until 2007 even included ammunition), at home for as long as they are enlisted. This also meant a personal watch and dive gear would remain at home if you happened to be a member of the country's former military dive unit.

Swiss Combat Divers & Doxa 

Swiss Army Combat Divers during a training event. Several Doxa Subs are visible. (Photo Credit: armeetaucher.ch) 

On July 14, 1969, the first 48 young men embarked to start their basic training with the engineer corps; 25 of them would make it through recruit school that year. Only a few more followed in the years after: Between 1968 and 1979, fewer than 150 “dive watches with strap” were handed out by the armory, before what was then openly described as an "elite unit" was eventually dissolved to cut costs. These standard Doxa Sub 300T Professional watches were engraved by the armory with an individual four-digit number (starting with number 5000), matching the number on, for example, the divers’ scuba tanks, as well as a Swiss cross, and the letters ‘EMD’ (short for Eidgenössisches Militärdepartment, the name of the Federal Military Department back then). 

The caseback engraving was most likely done by the Swiss armory. While most of the unit's equipment was liquidated over time, combat divers were usually given the opportunity to buy their watches.

When a diver lost his watch (and quite a lot of them did), he would be automatically given a replacement with a new number from the armory. If a diver left the unit, his watch would automatically be passed on to the next diver, resulting in up to three divers using the same Sub 300T over the years. In the end, divers that were released from their obligation to serve were usually offered the opportunity to buy their dive watch for 30 Swiss francs, and to many members of the unit, this watch became their most treasured piece of memorabilia.

Bubu’s Final Days 

Number 5088 went to a young soldier with the moniker ‘Bubu’, who, 50 years later, in his brief e-mail to me, also mentioned that he was planning to leave Switzerland for good: something I've seen many other divers do when the cost of living in Switzerland becomes too high, or the weather simply too cold. Either way, the historian in me knew immediately that this potentially could be a story that was too good to miss out on, and the watch collector in me was equally convinced that time was of the essence here, otherwise he surely wouldn't have mentioned his travel plans to me. 

I eagerly agreed to meet him the same day, grabbed both my camera and my wallet on my way out, not sure which one of these two I would end up using, told my significant other not to wait for me and found myself a couple of hours later standing in a stranger's (rather empty) living room, watching him slowly pull out a watch from his jeans pocket. It was indeed the watch model I was expecting to see, and it was, as described, no longer running when Bubu handed the Sub 300T Professional over to me, which made it rather difficult to think about a price I would be able and willing to pay, should the discussion ever go that direction. 

What if it couldn't be repaired? I didn't want to end with another project that would potentially take forever. Also, I didn't want to have to explain to my girlfriend why I'd just spent so much money on a visibly beat-up watch, which, on top of me driving several hours that day, wasn't even working. On the other hand, the bezel looked surprisingly good, as did the bright orange dial. And the ETA movement of a vintage Doxa Sub surely wouldn't require a specialist working in Patek's restoration department.

I was ready to negotiate. Bubu, however, was neither asking for a price nor my opinion on his watch. He'd quietly started to cry while I was looking at the Sub: "This is where it still gets difficult for me." And this was, finally, the moment where I started to realize what was actually happening: Bubu was indeed planning to leave Switzerland, but he'd meant it in the most essential way a being could leave this earth, in his case by physician-assisted suicide as a result of a terminal illness. And in a process known in Sweden as “death cleaning”, he decided to reach out to me in his final days, to make sure his watch would end up in the right hands.

Becoming ‘the Next Generation’

Out of all the scenarios I was playing out in my head while I was driving in my car to and back from Bubu, two grown men hugging and crying at the same time was certainly not among them. There was an instant intimacy I absolutely wasn't prepared for. It wasn’t so much about being confronted with the finality of our human existence (just three weeks earlier, my own dad had passed away), but realizing that a complete stranger decided to let me briefly walk next to him on the last mile of his journey.

The diving equipment, including the personal watch with a matching number, was intended to be used between deployments.

What I secretly had hoped would be my long-overdue turn as a watch collector to finally be able to brag about a barn find, I became the “next generation” instead, tasked to look after someone's watch. And that wasn't the only full circle moment that night: three years earlier, the diving equipment I took photos of in the museum? It was mostly his. Bubu’s matching number was on the double tank and the caseback. Even his nickname was on the tank.

Bubu passed away a month after my brief encounter with him. He even made sure I would get his death announcement by mail by having prepared an envelope with my handwritten address.

Six months later, his Doxa Sub 300T came back from the watchmaker, indicating the passage of time once again.

Final Thoughts

Obviously, there is more than one watch in my collection. To me, Bubu’s Sub 300T is by far the most valuable watch of them all, both in terms of rarity and value, even though I can’t imagine ever selling it. Even more surprisingly, now that it is back in working condition, I am very much struggling wearing it, almost feels like stolen valor, since I have not served in this particular unit (I trained as a combat medic). But I am deeply honored that this watch found its way to me, and humbled to be able to somehow play a little part in keeping this man’s memory alive. 

If you enjoyed this article, please consider signing up for our weekly free newsletter for further updates HERE.

Read Next: The Newly-Discovered Watches Of SEALAB III & The Records That Prove It