From Behind The Mask, the extraordinary memoir written by Paddington Rail Crash survivor Pam Warren is out today.
Here’s an exclusive extract from Chapter 9: Home, The Psychologist And The Survivors’ Group
The first meeting of the survivors was held at the Posthouse Hotel in Swindon on 8 April 2000. I arrived early with Peter and Jane to look over the function room I’d hired,
having no idea how many people might turn up, what their attitude would be or what we were going to do or say. All I knew was that it felt like a positive step to be taking.
Just before 11 a.m. the first people arrived, wandering into the room quietly; there was no animation, no chit-chat, no normal first-meeting enquiries. I look back now and realise we probably all looked very grey, subdued and even haunted. As a few more came into the room I tried to smile and put them at ease, though I’m sure my appearance didn’t help matters with my face distorted by sores and my skin grafts grotesquely displayed through my plastic mask. Not to be perturbed I continued my role as hostess: ‘Tea, coffee, water?’ I asked. ‘There are nibbles at the back of the room.’
I must have said, ‘Hello, I’m Pam Warren’ two dozen times. ‘Hello, I’m Pam Warren. Nice to meet you. Thank you for coming,’ which was playing havoc with my vocal cords as they
tired very quickly. I followed each introduction with a nervous laugh and an explanation as to why I couldn’t shake their hands, quickly waving my own, encased in the black pressure-garment gloves to demonstrate the point. I can’t recall exactly how many there were, but I think about fifty-odd people. We arranged the chairs in the room into a semi-circle facing a table at the top of the room and sat down, just looking at each other, until I forced myself up and said, ‘Well, thank you all for coming. I don’t know what to do now … erm … I suppose one of the things we ought to do is talk about what happened?’
There was a deafening silence, and my nervousness and uncertainty grew by the second, until someone asked, ‘Do you remember the smell? That awful smell after the crash?’
It was as though a giant ‘on’ switch had been flicked, as everyone suddenly started talking. ‘What train were you on?’ … ‘Where were you?’ … ‘Which carriage were you in?’ … ‘Do you remember this?’ … ‘Do you remember that?’
We all left our chairs, moved towards each other and broke off into little groups, all talking, all very animated, with gestures, hand movements, a few quiet tears and even some smiles. I moved between the huddles of people, listening and chipping in. Nobody had to explain anything – the mere mention of diesel, or the fireball, or the wreckage was enough. Everyone knew what it meant, looked and felt like – we had all shared in it first-hand and now seemed to have a tangible bond that needed no verbal explanations. The meeting ran for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. I had only booked the room for a couple of hours but the Posthouse staff were brilliant and understood what was taking place. However, I don’t think any of the people assembled noticed the time, we were just so enthused.
I came away feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. There were people there who completely and utterly understood, and there were so many of us – none of us were alone.
Having called the meeting to some sort of order, we all agreed to meet again. It was at this point that someone suggested we form a group – my blood ran cold as I remembered the STAG meeting. ‘What sort of group?’ I queried.
‘A support group,’ one of the others responded.
‘Somewhere we can get together and chat, exchange ideas, pass on experiences,’ another replied.
‘Where we can help each other,’ came another.
I relaxed and my blood flowed again. Although we had a mixture of ideas, we all wanted to be an emotional support for each other. I don’t believe campaigning was even mentioned at this time, simply that questions needed to be posed to the rail industry – to Railtrack – regarding their safety record. One or two of us were to go away and look into the Clapham rail disaster report and the findings of the Southall rail crash. It was early days for the internet, but the HSE and Railtrack preliminary reports into Paddington were already available online. For anyone taking the time and trouble to root around, to talk to survivors of the crash with significant experience of railways, there was plenty of information to be gleaned. We were about to become rail industry experts in a very short period of time. ‘OK,’ I said, ‘but this has to be done on a bit of a proper footing, otherwise our meetings might drag on for hours. Can we agree that whatever happens we are a democratic group so everyone has an equal say?’ Everyone agreed.
I mentioned that I absolutely loathed committees (which I still do), but felt we needed to appoint someone to arrange the meetings and be a sort of coordinator. As the words left my lips I sensed all eyes were on me, though with friendly smiles, swiftly followed by fingers pointing at me. I had no choice but to agree. As for what we might call our meetings? We decided on ‘The Paddington Survivors’ Group’.
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