Train Crash Leaves Lasting Impact on Journalist's Life After Devastating Incident
When a runaway digger crashed through the window of my train carriage, I was on my way home from a night out with friends in Blackburn. The impact sent me tumbling forward as our carriages were thrown up into the air. What followed was chaos - screams, sirens blaring, and people scrambling to help those injured.
But it was what happened next that would change my life forever: I heard the cry of a little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, standing alone in the midst of the carnage. Her cries shook me out of my trance-like state, and I instinctively put my arms around her to comfort her.
In that moment, something shifted inside me. The initial trauma began to recede as I focused on calming her down and keeping her safe. It was a turning point - the little girl became my priority, and I found myself channeling all my attention towards helping her.
As we made our way out of the train carriage and onto the track, I was struck by the resilience of those around me. Strangers became fellow rescuers, working together to get everyone to safety. Even in the midst of disaster, humanity shone through.
The little girl's presence also helped me confront my own mortality and the fragility of life. The crash could have ended much worse, but I was lucky enough to escape with bruises and aches, while others were injured.
Years on, that incident has had a lasting impact on me. It taught me to prioritize those in need, even when faced with catastrophic circumstances. When disaster strikes, our focus often turns inward - but the little girl's story showed me that looking outward can be just as powerful.
My friendship with Helen, which spans over 30 years, was also cemented that day. We've learned to rely on each other through thick and thin, and Pudsey has become a symbol of our solidarity in the face of adversity.
Looking back, I often wonder if the little girl remembered me or what happened that day. While it's impossible to know for certain, I take comfort in knowing that my actions made a difference - even if only for a brief moment.
When a runaway digger crashed through the window of my train carriage, I was on my way home from a night out with friends in Blackburn. The impact sent me tumbling forward as our carriages were thrown up into the air. What followed was chaos - screams, sirens blaring, and people scrambling to help those injured.
But it was what happened next that would change my life forever: I heard the cry of a little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, standing alone in the midst of the carnage. Her cries shook me out of my trance-like state, and I instinctively put my arms around her to comfort her.
In that moment, something shifted inside me. The initial trauma began to recede as I focused on calming her down and keeping her safe. It was a turning point - the little girl became my priority, and I found myself channeling all my attention towards helping her.
As we made our way out of the train carriage and onto the track, I was struck by the resilience of those around me. Strangers became fellow rescuers, working together to get everyone to safety. Even in the midst of disaster, humanity shone through.
The little girl's presence also helped me confront my own mortality and the fragility of life. The crash could have ended much worse, but I was lucky enough to escape with bruises and aches, while others were injured.
Years on, that incident has had a lasting impact on me. It taught me to prioritize those in need, even when faced with catastrophic circumstances. When disaster strikes, our focus often turns inward - but the little girl's story showed me that looking outward can be just as powerful.
My friendship with Helen, which spans over 30 years, was also cemented that day. We've learned to rely on each other through thick and thin, and Pudsey has become a symbol of our solidarity in the face of adversity.
Looking back, I often wonder if the little girl remembered me or what happened that day. While it's impossible to know for certain, I take comfort in knowing that my actions made a difference - even if only for a brief moment.