An Event That Altered My Life: My Train Was in an Accident – and afterward I Heard a Child Crying.

That instant I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our families and friends getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the lavatory during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, 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, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the value of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my perspective on other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.