Story here
When Bill Bessent first heard the message in voicemail, he thought it had to be a scam.
"Yeah, if you're the grandson of Herbert Bessent, I've got some of your property."
It sounded suspicious, even to to Jean Guy Charest as he left the message.
"The guy's been dead for 60 years, how do I tell someone I've got his property?"
... "I bought a bag of broken watches at a thrift store for $15," he recalled.
Kids' watches. Plastic watches. Most with no straps — parts, at best.
Then he saw the Cyma. The gleaming engraved face, the leather strap with the patina of a thing that's been worn through hell or high water — probably both.
The son of a Second World War veteran himself, and an instrumentation mechanic in the oil patch by trade, Charest recognized a fine machine.
"It's a beautiful watch, and it still works. Not well, but it keeps time," he said.
On the watch face, engraved Private H.G. Bessent, and a military number.
On the back "Good Luck, Bert, from Blane, Ralph and Spaff. August 27, 1917."
Charest was ecstatic. He'd made quite the score.
He brought the venerable timepiece to work, showing it to a veteran co-worker named Dan, who recognized the World War I era date and looked up the military number.
The information rolled in like a tank.
A driver named Herbert Gordon Bessent...
Herbert was 22 years old as the Battle of Passchendaele was grinding in full gear on the Western Front of Belgium. It would be another bloody year before the enemy was fully routed, in full retreat.
And Herbert was gifted a fine Swiss silver wristwatch, the latest thing for the trenches. You could glance at the second hand and time the seconds between the pounding of enemy artillery and the explosions of the shells.
If that watch could talk, it could tell quite a story...
When Bill Bessent first heard the message in voicemail, he thought it had to be a scam.
"Yeah, if you're the grandson of Herbert Bessent, I've got some of your property."
It sounded suspicious, even to to Jean Guy Charest as he left the message.
"The guy's been dead for 60 years, how do I tell someone I've got his property?"
... "I bought a bag of broken watches at a thrift store for $15," he recalled.
Kids' watches. Plastic watches. Most with no straps — parts, at best.
Then he saw the Cyma. The gleaming engraved face, the leather strap with the patina of a thing that's been worn through hell or high water — probably both.
The son of a Second World War veteran himself, and an instrumentation mechanic in the oil patch by trade, Charest recognized a fine machine.
"It's a beautiful watch, and it still works. Not well, but it keeps time," he said.
On the watch face, engraved Private H.G. Bessent, and a military number.
On the back "Good Luck, Bert, from Blane, Ralph and Spaff. August 27, 1917."
Charest was ecstatic. He'd made quite the score.
He brought the venerable timepiece to work, showing it to a veteran co-worker named Dan, who recognized the World War I era date and looked up the military number.
The information rolled in like a tank.
A driver named Herbert Gordon Bessent...
Herbert was 22 years old as the Battle of Passchendaele was grinding in full gear on the Western Front of Belgium. It would be another bloody year before the enemy was fully routed, in full retreat.
And Herbert was gifted a fine Swiss silver wristwatch, the latest thing for the trenches. You could glance at the second hand and time the seconds between the pounding of enemy artillery and the explosions of the shells.
If that watch could talk, it could tell quite a story...
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