🔗 Share this article

That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, 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 – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, but it was already 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 driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which involved a notable act 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 aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance 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 over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.