An Incident That Changed My Life: The Train I Was On Was in an Accident – and subsequently I Overheard a Little Girl Sobbing.

T 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 on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and settled down in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our families and friends getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. 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. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through 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 climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away 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 notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value 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 more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing with anything, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to grow older.