🔗 Share this article

The moment I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby asked me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling 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 – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.