The moment I thought I was going to die came in my early twenties, just as life was beginning. My best friend Helen and I were traveling by train from York to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Excited to see each other and looking forward to a weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop.
We stored our bags—packed with essentials like bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs—overhead and settled into a cozy two-seater. About 50 minutes into the journey, I faintly heard a bang, followed by another much louder one that was impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage lifted into the air in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I found ourselves standing in the aisle, holding each other tightly. With my head down and eyes shut, I braced for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, just like in the movies. I remember thinking about our families and friends receiving the news. Then, I heard a little girl crying.
She was around seven or eight years old and seemed to be alone. Her cries snapped me out of my daze; here was my chance to be helpful. I went over to her, put my arm around her, and whispered hoarsely, “You’re all right.” “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than to her. “Don’t look around,” Helen shouted, but it was too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A massive metal object had smashed through the window behind us. We later learned a runaway digger had rolled down a hill and hit the train, causing it to derail.
Our carriage was tilted with the front end in the air. Sirens wailed in the distance, and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Soon after, Helen and I also climbed out through the window and down a ladder onto the tracks.
Back on solid ground—next to a goods shed in Pudsey—my body began to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mother, who had been in the toilet during the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another passenger accidentally sat on Helen’s suitcase, causing it to burst open—luckily, our wine bottles survived. After waiting for half an hour, we shared a complimentary taxi to Blackburn with a teenage boy and the woman who had broken Helen’s suitcase. Our friend was waiting for us, pale with worry. She had heard about the derailment and a guard had taken her to his office for a cup of tea while she awaited news.
With the invincibility of youth, we set the crash aside and continued with our night out, which included a memorable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, though several people were taken to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches from being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing down as it approached Leeds station, which helped prevent serious injuries. The fact that no one was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs,” but the little girl left a lasting impression on me. Taking care of her and calming her down helped shift my focus away from myself and taught me the value of looking outward in a crisis. Over the years, I’ve often wondered if she remembers anything about that day and how much it affected her.
Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years, and “Pudsey” has become our shorthand for being able to handle anything as long as we’re together. Having her with me that day made me feel protected from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed how I approach other kinds of—Crises give me perspective, reminding me that no matter how bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older. Everything is Present by Anna Woodford is published by Salt Publishing. To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about the personal narrative A moment that changed me my train crashed and then I heard a little girl crying
General Beginner Questions
Q What is this story about
A Its a personal essay about someone who survived a train crash The pivotal moment wasnt just the crash itself but hearing a childs cry afterward which shifted their focus from their own shock to helping others fundamentally changing their perspective on life
Q Is this a true story
A While we cannot verify every personal account it is presented as a true firstperson narrative of a transformative experience
Q Why is the little girls cry so important
A The cry cuts through the chaos and the narrators own fear It represents vulnerability and immediate human need pulling the narrator out of a selfcentered state of shock and into a mode of compassion and action
Q How did this experience change the person
A Commonly such an experience leads to a shift in prioritiesvaluing human connection over trivial matters understanding the fragility of life and recognizing ones own capacity for courage and empathy in a crisis
Deeper Advanced Questions
Q What psychological themes are often explored in this kind of story
A Key themes include PostTraumatic Growth the shift from a victim to a helper mindset acute awareness of mortality and the profound impact of shared human experience during disaster
Q Could the narrator have experienced survivors guilt
A Its very possible Survivors guilt is common after traumatic events where others are injured or killed The focus on helping the girl could be a way to cope with those feelings by taking meaningful action
Q Is this a common type of transformative experience
A Yes Neardeath experiences or surviving a disaster often serve as wakeup calls or defining moments that force people to reevaluate their lives relationships and purpose
Q What might the before and after of the narrators character be like
A
