🔗 Share this article

The moment I knew my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our relatives and companions getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him 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 likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

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 watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.