That instant it dawned on me 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 traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.
We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our families and friends receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.
“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, more to myself than her.
She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, causing us to derail.
Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.
Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.
Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and taught me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.
Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle any situation, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to get older.
