The New Ross Peddler

With his faithful horse Prince and a wagon full of goods to sell, Granddad was a familiar sight in Nova Scotia for more than 30 years

The old yellow peddler’s wagon collects dust as a museum piece now, heavily laden with products from a bygone era. It was saved decades ago from the ravages of decay by a group of concerned citizens who wanted to preserve a thread of New Ross, N.S., history. It now has a home at the Ross Farm Museum. Many a schoolchild has used the wagon as a focal point for one of their school assignments.

My mom Irene was called upon several times as a reference, not because she was curator of the museum but because the wagon belonged to her father, Side Sode.

Life wasn't easy for Granddad. Born near Damascus, Syria, around 1880, not much is known about his childhood other than he had two brothers and there was strife in the family. One of these brothers accompanied him when they left Syria and worked their passage to North America as very young lads. The crossing was difficult and stories were told of how they ate haram (forbidden) foods to stay alive. They made their way to Canada, settling in Cape Breton Island, where they lived in Kenlock, Inverness County— probably as part of the influx of workers for the coal mines.

In time, my greatgrandmother brought a young woman from Syria named Hiadijaha (Jenny) to Canada to marry Granddad. While living in Kenlock, they started a family and, in 1916, found their way to the Gold River-western Shore area of Lunenburg County.

Stories of hardship— including a child dying, a brother freezing to death and other sad tales—have been passed down through the years, but many are now lost to time. We do know, however, that eventually Grand- dad and Jenny decided to move back to Syria with their children. During this crossing, it is believed another child died. My mom was only able to share a story of seeing the lid of Granddad’s old trunk with a picture in it of a young girl named Annie lying in a coffin.

Back in their homeland, they found boundary changes had resulted in their village of Mdhouka now being in Lebanon.

Stories indicate they tried sheep farming, but a large percentage of the flock was lost to a plague. Granddad continued to struggle to provide for his family. It is uncertain

what the mitigating factor was that made him decide to return to Nova Scotia, but he did and settled in New Ross, Lunenburg County. He sent a telegram for his family to join him, but only his three eldest daughters arrived; the rest of his family, including Jenny, stayed in Lebanon.

In the early 1930s, he met my grandmother Margaret. They had a common-law relationship that produced three children (Toby, my mom Irene, and Gladys)—starting a new branch of our family tree.

Providing the necessities of life for his family became difficult as a peddler with a knapsack, so he purchased a horse-drawn wagon, which was to become his trademark.

Granddad became well-known as the New Ross Peddler. He’d travel for weeks at a time with his wagon packed full of dry goods and other merchandise for his waiting customers. His faithful horse Prince had to be re-shod before each trip, but he knew the route even when Granddad dawdled, lost in a daydream.

Granddad’s route encompassed many communities in Nova Scotia, from the Valley area and Noel Shore to the Hardwood Lands and the Windsor area, then on to Canaan and home again. It was an arduous trip; sometimes he was accompanied by his young son, my uncle Toby.

Uncle Toby’s stories were full of vivid recollections of feeling lonely, the fear of tuberculosis, which was rampant, and the fact that pre-war supplies were scarce. Mostly, though, he talked about how the people were friendly and welcoming.

My mom made one such trip with her dad and that was enough for her. As a sevenyear-old, what she remembered most, besides the people, was the strong creolin antiseptic that Granddad used. Someone had given Mom a doll and Granddad cleaned it in the strong disinfectant; it had such a disagreeable odour that she found the doll difficult to play with. I guess he was afraid of contracting TB and other germs.

I do believe I have inherited that trait from my grandfather, as I have been called a germaphobe—ridiculous really, considering I surrounded myself with germs while nursing for more than 30 years!

LATER YEARS

Even with a second young family, Granddad still maintained ties with his eldest daughters and their growing families here in Canada. He’d grow huge gardens each year, providing fresh vegetables for them. He’d grind his own mutton and had a clever way of preserving eggs in the winter. Stories of his excellent cooking skills told of him preparing traditional Syrian food. Mom served her version of these recipes over the years, giving us a love for these foods as well.

His travelling days ended when Granddad built a store next to the family home. The wagon and a winter sled were stored in the barn and in time would become the grandkids’ playthings. I remember years later playing with my cousins in that old barn, the dust permeating our clothing as we played games of hide-and-seek—those wagons provided excellent hiding places.

Granddad’s eldest son immigrated to Canada in 1949 and established a business that still operates today. The work ethic that drove our grandfather was ingrained in all his children (according to his Koran, he had seven children with Jenny and of course three with Margaret).

Sadly, Granddad succumbed to a stroke in 1959. I don’t really remember him, but I do have other memories, such as the footbridge over the meandering river in the back of the Sode property, as well as a sheep chained in the field that terrified me as a three-year-old!

Most of our branch of the family tree has remained in Nova Scotia, while Uncle Toby and his wife Lois live in New Brunswick. Like any family, we have secrets, stories yet to be told, hardships, joy and devotion.

Grandfather’s tenacity and determination to improve the quality of life for himself and his families led him to choose Canada. This is our thread woven into the tapestry of this beautiful country, started by a wry young man who left his war-torn homeland because he believed in a better life.