🔗 Share this article

The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, 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 – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink 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 unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, provided we have each other. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to age.