An Incident That Changed Me: My Train Crashed – and subsequently There Was a Little Girl Crying.

That instant I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out 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, we later learned had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which included a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to age.