An Event That Transformed My Life: Our Train Crashed – and then I Overheard a Little Girl Weeping.

The moment it dawned on me the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. Someone cried out 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, hugging each other. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been using the restroom during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains 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 avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, 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 over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed the way I approach other types of crises, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to get older.