paul took time to reflect on the fragility of life after witnessing a train accident in 1998.

The autobiographic vignette below was originally titled “Diagonal Death”.  I wrote this passage in late 1998 as part of my (attempted) PhD at Flinders University in South Australia. My doctoral research focused on educational inequality and the lessons taught by the “formal” and “informal” curriculum at schools in hard places. My thesis writing at that stage was focused on identifying who I was for the reader. As it turned out, watching a living, vital person suddenly cease to exist snapped me into a different and more reflective version of my self. The writing style was inspired by the personal account contained in Crawford (1996) detailing the events surrounding a friend being taken by a crocodile.

Friday 2 October 1998

I don’t know exactly what inspired me to push my bike and walk to my office at Flinders University on that day. I had been in study mode for eight months and I was just weeks away from entering the field to conduct my research. I had effectively been locked away over the mild winter months and this day was a beautiful spring day. It also could have been that it was the last day before the Federal Election, and I was in a contemplative head space.

Sometimes I get a ‘feeling’ that I must be somewhere, watch something, read something, or break up my routine and find myself some space. This day was no exception. This ‘feeling’ I get is something I’ve learned to live with – I’ve made room in my head and my heart that says it’s okay to run with the feeling, to let it take me somewhere, and not worry. The first time I remember letting go, was in the University of Tasmania library in Launceston. I felt it, I followed it, and I ended up near a row of books that contained Salinger’s, The Catcher in the Rye. I read it there and then, without questioning what led me there or why.

It has happened so many times since. Like the time I was in the video store and in a line up to  take out a hollywood blockbuster, when I withdrew from the cue, returned the movie in hand to the shelf and picked up, without hesitation, The Theory of Flight. The movie was brilliant, and has had a lasting impact on me.

So I am confident now that when I get the ‘feeling’ I am in for an experience, something that will help me grow. At times it is tremendously exhausting following the ‘feeling’. The day in question was one of those days. In following the feeling I had decided to leave home early and walk the six kilometres to the Sturt Campus at Flinders. It was a break from routine, for I would normally ride my bike. This day, I walked. I self talked. I thought.

I was 15 minutes in my hike, walking south west along Diagonal Road, when I spotted a small white terrier jump from its owners arms and run in a panic along the footpath. Scared by the traffic the young dog ran in a front yard, and then on the road, and then back onto the footpath. I saw this as I walked. I was on the same side of the road and I was within calling distance of the puppy. I watched.  The closer the owner got to the dog, the more panicked the dog’s actions became.

I couldn’t not act. I felt compelled to help. I called out to the pup. I laid my bike on the footpath and knelt down on the ground. I tapped my leg, and like a long lost friend the pup came to me. I cuddled it, and sought to calm it’s shivering body. I smiled at the owner as she approached. She rationalised that her pup never liked the idea of staying in a shelter when they went camping. But it was a camping weekend for them and they were going away to a place where no pets were allowed. She said that she knew her dog knew the score and had tried to escape at the entry of the Pet Shelter.

I passed the puppy back to its owner, and we talked for a few minutes while the pooch regained its composure. The owner thanked me again, I gave the puppy a final head scratch and then continued my walk. Moments later, I tuned into my head and resolved that I was feeling buoyed. I had performed a good deed and it was barely 8am. Maybe I had saved the life of a dog. I had been in the right place at the right time and carried out a good deed. Had the feeling taken me there? Was that the lesson to learn today?

I felt good inside that I had helped someone. I was now a few minutes behind schedule, so I picked up the pace.

Not far past the animal shelter is the Oakland Park level crossing. Trains bringing workers from Adelaide’s southern suburbs cross busy Diagonal Road at this point at regular intervals all morning. The crossing, for all intents and purposes, marks the half way point of my journey from my home to Flinders University. Almost every morning I catch the boom gates closing. While riding it serves as a rest stop. A chance to catch my breath. This day, however, what I saw took my breath away.

As I approached, traffic flowed across the level rail crossing as normal. Sometimes I see people cross the pedestrian crossing at that point, but it is very rare to see anyone cross the road at that point. I watched, and then saw that the two ladies were attaching political advertising material to the fences that sided with road. Election advertising regulations were different in Adelaide than in my home state of Tasmania. In South Australia, it was common to see core flute election posters attached just out of reach, three metres up a stobie pole, or cable tied to other government or council infrastructure, like the safety fencing around level crossings.  The ladies on this day were making sure their party’s candidate’s sign was in place. I believe they also stopped to straighten a competitors sign that had been vandalised.

I saw the lady bob down. The bells on the crossing began ringing, the lights started flashing, and the booms lowered. Cars began cue at the crossing, as they do, and that was when I lost sight of the lady.

I thought nothing more of it as I continued my walk passed a long row of waiting commuters. The trains whizz past in a blur of silver, and sometimes toot. Today the south bound train, tooted, and tooted, and tooted, and then pulled up over the crossing, but well short of the next stop.

The booms stayed down, the bells keep ringing, and people emerged from their cars. I knew there was trouble. I moved closer, and spotted the older lady lying like a rag doll on the ground some ten metres from the crossing. The impact with the front of the train had been so traumatic that her shoes had been flung clear. I watched as others watched. A driver covered the body with election advertising, and another retrieved her shoes and sat them neatly next to her lifeless body.

It was an eternity before the police and ambulance arrived. I cried. I paced. I wandered in circles. The ‘feeling’ had brought me close enough to save her life, or had it? I might have been waiting at the crossing if I had not stopped to help the lady with the dog. What?

I still don’t understand.

Postscript

In early 2022 I revisited the place of the accident. I was on holiday in Adelaide and had hired a bicycle to explore my old home town. I was drawn back to Diagonal Road and traveled the same path as I had walked in October 1998. At the place where the level crossing once stood I was surprised to see that significant works had been completed. A new train station and an underpass had been built to increase traffic flow, and safety (see photo above). The crossing was no longer a risk. An engineering solution had been found (see link), federal, state and local government funds ($174m) had been allocated and it had been built. I share this postscript in the knowledge that the investment and construction was two decades too late for the lady who died, but buoyed by the fact that with the right leadership all tiers of government can collaborate to get things done (see collaborative project alliance approach used in South Australia). My aim, through vibrant nation, is to draw attention to the urgent matters that all levels of government must attend to, and the way they could function, in order for communities to progress toward a safer, fairer, more inclusive, and just era.