An Event That Altered Me: My Train Derailed – and subsequently There Was a Little Girl Weeping.

The moment I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones getting the news. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

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 using the restroom during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady 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 made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus 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 value of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to get older.