An Event That Altered My Perspective: My Train Crashed – and subsequently There Was a Child Weeping.

That instant it dawned on me I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope 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 instructed me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building 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 lavatory at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though 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 enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope whatever comes, provided we have each other. Being with her that day made it feel as if 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 reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to grow older.