🔗 Share this article

That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our families and friends getting the news. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, 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 gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler asked me to give the girl to him 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 likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away 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 continued with our evening plans, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, 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 now been friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.