🔗 Share this article

The moment I realized I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

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

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. 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 blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and taught me the worth of directing attention externally 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 now been friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my perspective on various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to grow older.