🔗 Share this article

T it dawned on me I was about to die arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; 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 yelled, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. 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 primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my method of handling various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to get older.