🔗 Share this article

T I realized the end was near arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our families and friends getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

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 during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, ashen-faced. 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 waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn 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 aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Given 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. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope any situation, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was protected from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed my method of handling various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to age.