An Incident That Changed Me: The Train I Was On Derailed – and then I Overheard a Child Crying.

The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.