🔗 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 reunite with a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. 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 – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent 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 prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.