🔗 Share this article

That instant I realized I was about to die arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through 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. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our loved ones getting the news. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, 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 sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to age.