A Moment That Altered Me: My Train Crashed – and then I Overheard a Child Crying.

T I knew I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I 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 climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been 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 made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling 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.