🔗 Share this article

The moment it dawned on me the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; 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 caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been using the restroom during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away 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 primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle with anything, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to age.