🔗 Share this article

T it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.