An Event That Transformed My Perspective: Our Train Crashed – and subsequently There Was a Young Girl Weeping.

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 catch up with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated 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 more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing with anything, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to get older.