🔗 Share this article

That instant I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. 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, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to grow older.