An Incident That Changed My Perspective: Our Train Crashed – and then I Overheard a Child Weeping.

That instant I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our families and friends hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I whispered, 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; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were transported to the 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 primary reason in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing whatever comes, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to age.