An Event That Transformed Me: Our Train Was in an Accident – and subsequently There Was a Little Girl Crying.

The moment I knew I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest 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 party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and settled down in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward 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, vision blocked, I anticipated 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 little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” 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; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance 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 escaped 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 crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus 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 taught me the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.