An Incident That Altered My Life: Our Train Derailed – and then I Heard a Child Weeping.

T I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. 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 standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

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 moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. 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 hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved 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 escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed the way I approach other types of crises, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.