Sunday, 31 May 2015
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KP Ruddleman
Kenneth Pieter Ruddleman (born July 7th 1848, Hayfield, England. Died 1907, aged 59) was a British explorer of English and Dutch descent.
Origin
Born in the North of England in the small market town of Hayfield, not far from Glossop and Manchester, to an ex-military father (James Patrick Ruddleman) and a Dutch librarian (Julia Moos), Ruddleman’s fascination of all things historical was fostered by his exposure to his mother’s vast collection of books, and his father’s tales of foreign lands.
Early Career
After relocating to London at the age of five, and being educated at a middling boarding school, Ruddleman pursued a patchy, but latterly successful career as an antiques salesman until he turned his hand to exploration and treasure hunting at the age of twenty three. Having amassed a sizable fortune from his antique dealings, he was able to fund his own expeditions, which many of the philanthropic investors of the day regarded as fanciful and based on ‘the rambling imaginations of a half-cut madman.’
Even at this young age, Ruddleman’s drinking was renowned, and became a source of inspiration for many satirical cartoonists of the day, who continually mocked his seemingly perennial inebriation and made fun of his oversized, bushy beard and eyebrows that rendered his features in a permanent state of surprise.
It was widely known though that Ruddleman took the jibes in good humour, and was in fact nowhere near as unstable as the jokers would have the public believe. Underneath the roguish façade he was a meticulous planner, a methodical genius, and the possessor of an ego, and an eccentric streak that would fuel his life’s work and eventually lead him to ignominy.
The Glory Years
For two decades KP (as he became known to the world) travelled the globe in search of obscure, forgotten treasure’s that his inflated sense of intelligence assured him had so far not been found because none as brilliant as he had attempted to find them, as opposed to the widely held belief that most of the treasures he sought didn’t exist at all.
Despite his almost comedic reputation, Ruddleman was becoming something of a cult figure, and his brash, no nonsense approach to everything that came his way earned him a lot of respect and admiration. On his frequently empty-handed returns to his beloved England, these subterranean fans would emerge and line the streets, welcoming home their champion of optimism with open arms and eager ears. And their hero did not disappoint. As long as there was an audience (even an unwilling one at that) KP Ruddleman could (and invariably would) talk and talk and talk until the cock crowed or he droned himself to sleep. For hours he would sit and regale his adventures to avid listeners, and for his trouble he asked nought more than a full glass of ale, and the silence of the crowd.
Of his failures, Ruddleman regularly said:
“Success is hard to measure, for no man alive uses the same scale. True I am yet to discover what there is yet to be discovered, but my ambition, my belief, and my self-assurance has uncovered the greatest of all treasures in those who support my endeavours: hope.”
This typically pompous and self-appreciating statement became an often rehashed proverb that his supporters bandied around at any opportunity, but was, infuriatingly so for his dissenters, alarmingly apt.
Ruddleman struck upon his first real discovery at the age of 45. A strong, powerful man, with a fiery temper and a steely stare, he had lost none of his majesty with age, and was more than happy to let reporters photograph him bare-chested, or wrestling with chimpanzees (a pastime to which he was worryingly partial). The now rare snap of his leonine head dominating the foreground of the picture that brought the treasure of Machunzu Kadaka to the world was circulated around Europe, and Ruddleman achieved brief credibility over night.
Origin
Born in the North of England in the small market town of Hayfield, not far from Glossop and Manchester, to an ex-military father (James Patrick Ruddleman) and a Dutch librarian (Julia Moos), Ruddleman’s fascination of all things historical was fostered by his exposure to his mother’s vast collection of books, and his father’s tales of foreign lands.
Early Career
After relocating to London at the age of five, and being educated at a middling boarding school, Ruddleman pursued a patchy, but latterly successful career as an antiques salesman until he turned his hand to exploration and treasure hunting at the age of twenty three. Having amassed a sizable fortune from his antique dealings, he was able to fund his own expeditions, which many of the philanthropic investors of the day regarded as fanciful and based on ‘the rambling imaginations of a half-cut madman.’
Even at this young age, Ruddleman’s drinking was renowned, and became a source of inspiration for many satirical cartoonists of the day, who continually mocked his seemingly perennial inebriation and made fun of his oversized, bushy beard and eyebrows that rendered his features in a permanent state of surprise.
It was widely known though that Ruddleman took the jibes in good humour, and was in fact nowhere near as unstable as the jokers would have the public believe. Underneath the roguish façade he was a meticulous planner, a methodical genius, and the possessor of an ego, and an eccentric streak that would fuel his life’s work and eventually lead him to ignominy.
The Glory Years
For two decades KP (as he became known to the world) travelled the globe in search of obscure, forgotten treasure’s that his inflated sense of intelligence assured him had so far not been found because none as brilliant as he had attempted to find them, as opposed to the widely held belief that most of the treasures he sought didn’t exist at all.
Despite his almost comedic reputation, Ruddleman was becoming something of a cult figure, and his brash, no nonsense approach to everything that came his way earned him a lot of respect and admiration. On his frequently empty-handed returns to his beloved England, these subterranean fans would emerge and line the streets, welcoming home their champion of optimism with open arms and eager ears. And their hero did not disappoint. As long as there was an audience (even an unwilling one at that) KP Ruddleman could (and invariably would) talk and talk and talk until the cock crowed or he droned himself to sleep. For hours he would sit and regale his adventures to avid listeners, and for his trouble he asked nought more than a full glass of ale, and the silence of the crowd.
Of his failures, Ruddleman regularly said:
“Success is hard to measure, for no man alive uses the same scale. True I am yet to discover what there is yet to be discovered, but my ambition, my belief, and my self-assurance has uncovered the greatest of all treasures in those who support my endeavours: hope.”
This typically pompous and self-appreciating statement became an often rehashed proverb that his supporters bandied around at any opportunity, but was, infuriatingly so for his dissenters, alarmingly apt.
Ruddleman struck upon his first real discovery at the age of 45. A strong, powerful man, with a fiery temper and a steely stare, he had lost none of his majesty with age, and was more than happy to let reporters photograph him bare-chested, or wrestling with chimpanzees (a pastime to which he was worryingly partial). The now rare snap of his leonine head dominating the foreground of the picture that brought the treasure of Machunzu Kadaka to the world was circulated around Europe, and Ruddleman achieved brief credibility over night.
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