Paula and Wally’s Visit to Veltheim, Switzerland

Have you ever had a series of events almost beyond coincidence lead
you toward your goal? That is what happened to Wally and me in our
search for Grandma Bergman’s childhood home in Switzerland.

After securing a room for two nights in Zurich’s preserved city center,
Wally and I returned to the train station to buy roundtrip tickets to
Veltheim, Grandma Bergman’s childhood home. Veltheim did not show
up on the computer, and the lady at the ticket booth told us there was
no such town in Switzerland. What a coincidence that the man working
at the adjacent computer said that he had once lived there! Veltheim
did not show on the computer because it was no longer serviced by train.
He advised us to take a train to Winterthur and then catch a bus to Veltheim.

A forty-five minute train ride took us to Winterthur, located northwest of
Zurich. Wally’s sister Kay had given us the information that Grandma’s father
had worked at either an electrical or gas plant in Winterthur.  (This information
turned out to be valuable because we learned that actually there are two
Veltheims in Switzerland—one near Bern and one near Winterthur.)  The old
center of Veltheim is within possible walking distance (or perhaps horse and
wagon or train?) to the old part of Winterthur so living in Veltheim and working
in Winterthur was possible in the 1800s.

After arriving at the train station in Winterthur, we discovered that a bus going
to Rosenburg passed through Veltheim.  We caught the bus and got off at Veltheim.
During our ride, we never really got out of town because Winterthur had grown all
around Veltheim, making Veltheim a suburb of Winterthur. We wondered how we
would ever be able to distinguish any part of Veltheim that existed during
Grandma’s lifetime; however, another lucky coincidence came our way.

After getting off the bus, we walked into a small deli to grab a sandwich.  An older
lady, who reminded me so very much of Freda, overheard our speaking English.
After learning why we were in Veltheim, she insisted on buying our lunch and taking
us to the old part of Veltheim where buildings are in use today that existed during
Grandma’s time. A couple of them had horse watering troughs with dates in the
early 1800s carved on them.  

The woman also took us to her apartment and showed us a book with pictures
taken of Veltheim around the time Grandma lived in the village.  During Grandma’s
time, Veltheim was not any larger than Homestead—one church, a few buildings
lining a few dirt streets, and a few simple homes. Even today, one of the main
streets in Veltheim is Feldstrasse (Field Street). This street ran along the edge
of the village and bordered the farmers’ fields. The village is on flat land, but the
Alps are visible on a clear day.  There was only one church (built in the 1400s)
in the pictures, and that church is still in use today.  A Protestant church, this is
the only one Grandma could have possibly attended.  

Although a suburb of Winterthur, the old center of Veltheim today has a
small-Swiss-village ambience. It is very quiet, peaceful, neat, and unbelievably clean.
Few cars pass on the streets because most people ride bicycles, walk, or take the
bus.  The majority of people live in apartments, most of which have a small yard or
flower decked porch. With a clothes line and family members’ bicycles parked in
a row; flower studded yards are small and immaculately groomed.  
 

According to family history, Grandma worked in Zurich for a while.   The old part is
preserved—no new structures allowed—and looks very much as it did in the 1800s.
We found dates in the 1700s on some of the churches.  The city center is now a
pedestrian zone; street cars are the only modern transport allowed.  If Grandma
walked the streets of Zurich today, she would certainly recognize the city.

Thanks to the good fortune of meeting the young man at the train station and the
lady in Veltheim; Wally stood in the shadow of Grandma’s childhood church, strolled
past stone troughs that possibly watered her family’s horse, and gazed at the same
Alpine horizon seen by Grandma so many years ago.

Paula Sproul