🔗 Share this article

T I knew the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine 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 dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. 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 remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. 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 enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for more than three decades and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my perspective on other types of crises, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.