October 6th, 2008

There should be a preface, I know. Some setting of the stage or manifesto of purpose. I cannot wait. There are other things that must be brought to light first. And other things must be exposed for the lies that they are. Many of them are lies I helped to create.

History calls me by another name. Montague John Druitt. I am him, and he is me. And yet we are not the same person. He exists only becuase I helped to create him. And others have expanded on what little information I had given them.

Montague John Druitt was born in Wimborne Minister, Dorset, England. He was the son of a local surgeon by the name of William. He was also nephew to Robert Druitt, a prominent physician and medical writer. The relations were carefully crafted lies, if people had known the truth, they would have scarcely believed it. I had to create a past, a family, and an identity for this world.

Some claimed that dear 'Monty' was a doctor. Like Sir Melville Macnaghten did when his memoirs were published in 1914.

Rubbish.

As Montague, I was a barrister and a special pleader. I was also employed as an assistant schoolmaster at George Valentine's boarding school. 9 Eliot Place, Blackheath. I began work there in 1881 and was dismissed shortly before my death in 1888.

But if I died in 1888, how am I telling my story now?

What better way to be eliminated as a suspect.

I do not know the name of the man they pulled out of the river. His real identity is not important. What is important is that there was a strong resemblance between us. A simple hair-cut and the proper clothes produced my doppleganger.

His body was found floating in the River Thames off Thorneycroft's torpedo works near Chiswick on December 31, 1888. Medical examination suggested that his body was kept at the bottom of the river for several weeks by stones placed in his pockets.

The coroner's jury concluded that I committed suicide by drowning "whilst of unsound mind."

People are so willing to believe what they perceive as truths.

They saw and knew what I wanted them to know.

My disappearance and death shortly after the fifth and last canonical murder (which took place on November 9, 1888) and alleged "private information" led some of the investigators of the time to suggest I was the Ripper, thus explaining the end to the series of murders.

The killing did not stop there. I simply moved on to another time and place. But that is another story entirely.

Montague was just an alias of mine. A name adopted throughout my many travels. It seemed more fitting for the time.

I am and always will be John Druitt. But I am afraid that I will always remain a bit shadowy. There is not much information available about me in your history books or on your internet. You will not know when or where I was born. Or where I grew up. Or the name of the first girl I kissed. For they have not taken place yet. While you dwell in the now and visit the past, the begining of my story lies in the future.

I will not bore you with the story of my childhood. You are eager to know about the time I spent in London's Whitechapel area. You want to know why I did what I did. And why I wont stop.

For now, I will leave you to ponder the information above.

Yours till death

John Druitt