🔗 Share this article

That instant I knew my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and got seated 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. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our families and friends hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse 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 during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She was aware 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.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and taught me the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself 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 any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to get older.