🔗 Share this article

The moment I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” 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. Later, we found out 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 nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

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 during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She was aware 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.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.