An Incident That Transformed My Life: My Train Was in an Accident – and then There Was a Child Sobbing.

The moment I knew the end was near occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones getting the news. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. 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. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Following that came 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 onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope whatever comes, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my method of handling other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.