An Event That Transformed Me: Our Train Derailed – and subsequently I Heard a Child Weeping.

T I knew the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the value of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how significant 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, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed the way I approach other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to get older.