🔗 Share this article

The moment it dawned on me the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our loved ones getting the news. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the value of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my perspective on other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.