A Moment That Transformed My Perspective: My Train Was in an Accident – and then There Was a Little Girl Sobbing.

That instant I knew the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate 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 stashed our bags – containing vital items such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and settled down in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our families and friends hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we discovered a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, 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, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to age.