🔗 Share this article

That instant I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite 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 party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. 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 tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope whatever comes, provided we have each other. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my perspective on other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.