🔗 Share this article

T it dawned on me my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our loved ones receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I stated, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; 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, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over 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 descending via a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the lavatory during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. 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 hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.