A Moment That Transformed My Perspective: Our Train Derailed – and subsequently I Overheard a Child Weeping.

The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him 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 scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and taught me the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to grow older.