Marco (mkt33) embarks on an ambitious journey to restore a vintage WWII Vetta Chronograph featuring a Valjoux Caliber 22 movement. His 'Thirst for Knowledge' series documents the intricate process of bringing this historical timepiece back to life, offering a detailed account for aspiring watchmakers and enthusiasts.

Don's words in the welcome message at AHCI forum caught my attention months ago.
I am undeniably thirsty and indeed there are lots of drinks here, mostly alcoholic beverages I would say
This is kind of a diary of my adventures through an almost impossible challenge for a layman (me): bringing an old chronograph back to life.


My sincere thanks to all the people here that share their knowledge, unawarely making myself "drunk" enough to attempt these kind of things.
Cheers,
// Marco

 

 

A WW II Vetta Chronograph

featuring Valjoux Cal.22

Marco Stella, April 2009

Part I

Introduction

It's no surprise Stefano loves mechanical watches. He is a sound mechanical engineer with a passion for his work. As soon as we discovered our common interest in watches, he started talking about this watch he got from his father long ago. It's easy to understand how big a treasure he feels it is. So I learned about the time in which his father was a war prisoner in 1943, and how this watch was used to measure sentry duties. At last he brought me the watch, no longer running, to see what could be done for it. That happened in March 2008, one year ago.

Well, I knew it would have been a good watch, but I was not prepared to such a beauty.

A Hobbyist Watchmaker's Dream

A 1940 chronograph, and maybe even older, is something you may have heard of, something you could have read about on books, but certainly it's not something you can handle or look at on a daily basis.

This Vetta isn't small even by today's standards, I can barely imagine what could it look like in the '40s. It should have been quite an expensive watch, even if the steel of its case speaks of war, when gold was needed for less fancy things than making a watch.

Vetta seems to have no relationship with the Wyler Vetta company, also from Italy and established in 1896 by Paul Wyler, a Swiss inventor with a passion for watches, and Innocente Binda, an Italian watchmaker with a remarkable enterprising talent (by the way, in 1934 Binda sponsored the football World Cup held in Italy, and invented the role of testimonials: all the Italy's football team players wore a Wyler Vetta even when playing. Italy won the cup that year and Wyler Vetta climbed over the top with them). In no document concerning Wyler Vetta is the Vetta brand quoted. Some claim that Vetta is kind of a sub-brand of Wyler Vetta, but as a matter of fact in 1936 Binda established the Breil brand, producing cheaper and more commercial watches, prelude to a "fashion" brand.

Description :  manual wind chronograph, central chrono seconds, minute accumulator register at 3:00, continuous seconds register at 9:00, start/stop and reset pushers, two positions crown for winding and time setting. Dial :  white, black printing, blue telemetre scale in Km, blue concentric scale for pulsations or any other measure up to three minutes, base 60 ticks per minute. Case :  steel Hands :  blued steel, alpha style Crystal :  domed, acrylic Diameter :  38mm, excluding crown Height :  12mm, including crystal Weight :  45g Lugs :  20mm, drilled through

Apparently, the dial have been restored – many years ago, in an era in which watchmakers were readily available and knew their job – and have been likely regularly serviced for years before being left in a drawer just to be worn on special occasions. More signs of restoration are found in the two smaller hands. Looking at the small seconds hand, it's easy to spot that it's much longer than its subdial's chapter. Looking at its color, some doubt arise on the minute accumulator hand too (the one with a big counterweight).

Chronograph's hands are usually different each other, to easily spot the minute accumulator and not being confused by the running seconds hand. Readability once used to be a key feature, something that present day designers often tend to forget.

Opening

This watch features a two-part case, so when the heavily tilted screws on the back are removed you need to gently push with your fingers on the crown and buttons – having care not to push too much – and the upper part is out. De Carle, see reference, describes this very case in chapter "water-resistant cases".

It took me a while to figure how to get to the movement. Finding how to remove a split stem is never easy – especially on a watch this old, with no manuals available and the constant fear to break something.

This kind of split-stem is described by De Carle, see reference, as 'snap-on'. He puts it simple writing that you just need to carefully pull the stem out by gripping the crown with ordinary cutting nippers. In this case A. I didn't know it was a snap-on stem and, B. would you have the guts to try this on such an old watch? Rust, for instance, may had found its way through the stem making it prone to break.

Eventually I found a small dent on the dial near the crown. Looking from above, the stem is clearly visible. So I put the blade of a 0.8mm screwdriver perpendicular to the stem, acting as a brake, and carefully unscrewed the crown. It worked! When I first looked at the movement I felt quite surprised ...but more about that in a while.

Even if I was prepared to that, the perlage applied on the inside of the caseback made me smile like a child looking at a new toy.

Perlage is done by applying a rotating wooden tool – charged with abrasive compound – to the surface. A precision x-y table is used to drive the wooden tool on one area, then lifted and moved to the next area and so forth, thus covering the whole surface with this beautiful characteristic pattern. The x-y table is mandatory to ensure evenly overlapped circular areas. As you may imagine, this is a very time consuming (read costly) process whose only functional purpose is the ability to hold the dirt away from the movement. Oil, dust and powdered metal from worn gears should stick into the micro grooves of the perlage (how effectively, it is sometimes questioned).

As expected, I found lots of watchmakers' signatures on the caseback. This is a good sign of care for the watch. One of them clearly reports 1957. Stefano later confirmed that the watch had not been serviced in decades, so 1957 is likely the year of its last overhaul. I wonder what do lubricants look like after 50+ years.

Many watchmakers used to keep track of their work on the watch by scratching the caseback with a reference number, their own signature, sometimes just the date. Easy access to computer stored data, including pictures, made this practice obsolete.

The pushers are quite different each other. The start pusher appears to be replaced. Similarly to the crown stem, the reset pusher is split in two parts. And it's broken. Only some stubborn dirt was keeping the pusher from falling away.

The case, showing different tubes for the two pushers

The non-original pusher (start/stop)

Broken part of the original pusher (reset)

Looking At The Movement

Some dust apart, the movement looks like perfect. Almost no stain on the steel levers, brilliant gilt bridges, screw heads in decent condition (though some better than others). It may not be finished to the finest standard, but I find it appealing indeed.

Movement :  Valjoux 22 Type :  column wheel chronograph Diameter :  32.6mm (14.5''') Height :  6.3mm Weight :  23g (including dial and hands) Balance :  11.8mm solid rim monometallic with counterweight screws Other :  overcoil spring and curb-pin regulator

According to ranfft.de this movement features 17 jewels, beats at 18,000bph and has a power reserve of 40h. It has been in production from 1914 to 1974, formerly as a monopusher chrono and later (1936) with two pushers. The same source states a little difference in diameter (31.3mm) and in height (6.4mm). I've been very careful in measuring the movement, nevertheless there are sources stating a smaller diameter.

There's no shock absorbing device on the balance jewels (Incabloc had yet to come) and there are some unjeweled holes, though apparently still in good condition.

The Bad News

So far I have a broken chrono pusher and two small cracks on the crystal. And more troubles for sure are waiting round the corner.

As soon as I dismount the balance cock, it appears clear why the watch is not running. The balance staff is broken both at the upper and lower pivot tips, evident result of a jolt.

Making a new staff is far beyond my skill. Replacement parts are no longer available so the only chance is to find something used or new old stock. That won't be easy.

I'm also worried about where do the broken tips are. They may be stuck somewhere in the movement and this is not a good thing at all.

Despite the broken staff, the balance moves when put dial down (well, at least it tries to do so, at a poor amplitude and with lots of sideshake) so chances there are that the rest of the movement is still fine.

Another issue arises. The dart (guard pin) on the pallet fork is badly bent, but that's a fix I could handle.

The face of the entry pallet jewel is lightly chipped on a corner, but it seems to have little influence on the impulse, if any. Both the run to the banking (draw) and the depth of locking are symmetrical. The drop on either stone is secure, no skipping observed on a complete revolution of the escape wheel (I've made two actually, just in case...)

I can't find the click and the watch is fully wound. Granted I don't want the pallet fork to fly away into the hyperspace, so I have to find some way to keep the movement from discharging at full speed – possibly damaging something else. The barrel is partially exposed on the movement side, but I don't want to put my thumb on it. Eventually I end up dismounting the pallet cock while gently braking the fourth wheel with a toothpick.

Immediately after that, an article from Mark Headrick came to my mind. "The click is under the hour clutch lever" explains Headrick speaking of a Valjoux 72. There it was, even in this Valjoux 22, the little pin at the very center of the picture below, at the left of the column wheel. Good to know there's such a lot of information on the internet... ;-)

Now that the mainspring is unwound and the balance is removed, I can check the power train. I test the train by giving the winding stem half a turn. The train moves freely for several seconds before stopping. A gentle tap and it starts again, keeping in motion for a few more seconds. This could be caused by a lack of grease in the barrel, giving an unsmooth torque supply from the mainspring. But maybe this is simply due to friction induced by old dried lubricants or dirt in a jewel hole. I note that the pallet stops on the exit pallet almost every time I repeat the test but, alas, I'm not knowledgeable enough to comment on this.

I find the gears wonderful, even if the finish may not be top-notch. The chrono gears do not feature the usual epicycloidal/hypocycloidal teeth shape found in a wheel/pinion coupling. Instead they feature fine triangular teeth to ensure a smoother chrono engagement and to reduce those annoying 'bumps' transmitted to the chrono seconds hand.

The End?

One of the things that make watches so interesting to me is that they are made to last. In a world where everything new, becomes old in months, and useless in years, it's a joy to spend time on something still appealing and – potentially – working after seven decades.

However, I'm not skilled enough to even start thinking about repairing this amazing product of watchmaking craftsmanship.

So the watch lied on my desk for weeks, awaiting to tick again.

But Stefano kept searching for replacement parts over and over. A new movement, a new balance, a new staff. And I continued my readings, article after article, book after book. Anything that could help us.