At precisely 6:00pm on 13 March 1930, one Joel “Woolf” Barnato, decorated British Army field artillery officer and three-time winner of the 24 Hours of Le Mans, set his empty champagne glass at the bar of the InterContinental Carlton in Cannes. He leaped with athletic grace into his H. J. Mulliner-bodied 6½-litre Bentley and roared out of the hotel’s famous circular driveway. There was a great deal at stake: 100 pounds sterling and, more importantly, his reputation as the era’s preeminent gentleman racer. Barnato had wagered that he could reach his gentlemen’s club in London before Le Train Bleu, the most glamorous and fastest passenger train in France, could travel the distance between Cannes and Calais. As the sun plummeted into the Mediterranean Sea, one thought was on his mind: time was an invaluable element in this race.
Woolf had to measure the elapsed time between his fuel stops at Aix-en-Provence, Lyon, Auxerre and Paris, so that he could reach the docks of Boulogne at precisely 10:30am. This gave him time to refuel, dine on some cold chicken washed down with champagne, before boarding the 11:30am boat sailing to Folkestone, England. Roaring off the boat, Barnato in his Bentley made the mad dash to Dale Bourne’s Club at St James’s, London, arriving at precisely 3:30pm. He was already ensconced at the bar sipping a refreshing libation and puffing on a restorative Cuban Corona as the Blue Train crossed into Calais. Barnato had travelled the distance of 1,340 kilometres at an average speed of 69.89kph. His watch, an instrument capable of measuring elapsed time with extraordinary precision, had been a critical tool which allowed him to calculate average speed over a fixed distance to keep him on pace. It is not known who made the timepiece Barnato wore during this daring feat, but if he were alive today,
