A Moment That Transformed My Life: The Train I Was On Derailed – and then There Was a Young Girl Sobbing.

T it dawned on me the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly 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 – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. 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 turn around,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which featured 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 escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, so long as we are together. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my perspective on various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to grow older.