🔗 Share this article

That instant I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our loved ones getting the news. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. 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 – adjacent to a storage building 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 during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which included 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 escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how big a deal 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 capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to age.