That instant I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.
We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I recall pondering our families and friends hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.
“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.
She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.
Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.
Standing on firm land again – 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, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily 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, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.
Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little 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 worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, 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 capacity to handle whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.
