An Event That Altered My Perspective: Our Train Was in an Accident – and subsequently I Heard a Child Sobbing.
The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.
We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.
“You’re all right,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.
Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.
Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.
Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy 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 railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.
Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn 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 violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor 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. Attending to her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and taught me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.
Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to grow older.
