A Moment That Changed My Life: The Train I Was On Crashed – and then There Was a Child Sobbing.

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 traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our families and friends getting the news. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the value of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.