BRYAN Bamber knows he is lucky to be alive. Barely a week ago he was on a Great Western train nearing Paddington. There was a sudden jolt, and then several moments of sheer horror started to unfold.

He was in the carriage immediately behind the now infamous coach H.

"It started to shudder," the Broadoak, near Newnham, man told me. "Then it was bumping, and rocking. But worst of all I could then see smoke and flames rushing past the window.

"The shuddering and rocking weren't so bad but we didn't know what was going on under the train. And the smoke and fire – I remember thinking, 'How am I going to deal with that?' Then the carriage fell on its side. People started to fall across the carriage. We had the table in between to brace ourselves against.

"The strange thing was with all that force the windows weren't broken – just one, on the upper side. Perhaps someone had broken it – I believe you need something like an ice pick."

He leans over a newspaper picture showing the wreckage of the two trains, points to the one gap on the flank of the fallen carriage.

"There," he says. "Fortunately it was just behind me and I could reach it easily. I was worried most of all by the thought of fire, and I had to get out.

"People who were already out were standing on the carriage helping others through. Some of the metal – there, see? – was leaning against the wreckage and we could get down to the ground on it.

"When I was safely on the ground I stayed to give a hand to the others who were following. People were all very good, and I could hear those still inside shouting to us that everyone was going to be all right.

"One of the people I helped down was Jilly Cooper. When I read her column afterwards it said she didn't know how she got blood on her clothes – I reckon I can tell her! My hands were raw, red and black."

He laughs and looks at his hands which are no longer so painful, then touches his ribs.

"Just a bit sore still here," he says, answering the unasked question.

Bryan had been travelling with two business colleagues to an office in London, a journey he makes about once a week, and all three of them got out without great harm.

"One of the first things I noticed was how many people were using mobile phones," he said. "I've heard that days after the crash police said phones were still going off in the wreckage.

"People were lending phones to those without them so they could call work and relatives. I called home – my first thought – to say I was all right.

"I also thought it was remarkable how many came out with their bags and briefcases – my one thought had been to forget everything else and get out because of the fire.

"When the rescue services arrived we were shepherded to a school on our side of the track – I think they shut it, and told the children to go home for the day. Then the walking wounded (he was one of these) were taken to a small hospital where everyone had a check-up."

Bryan, a widower, has two sons, Luke (19) at Loughborough University and Guy (18 next month) at Monmouth School. He was anxious that the Review would not try to make him a hero. "I was not," he said. "I just did what everyone was doing, helping one another."

He was very relieved when the doctors gave him the all clear. He was also offered counselling for the trauma and local police have since called on him at Broadoak to repeat the offer.

"I think it is best to be as open about it all as possible. You just have to go on living. It's like a car crash – the best thing to do is get back driving as quickly as possible.

"I don't have any flashbacks – I think I did on the afternoon of the crash but not since. And it feels all right talking about it. "It is when you are alone you start to think how it might have been," he said.

He plans to carry on as before, taking the regular train trips to London along the same route.

At the time he was thankful to be told that he was free to go if he wanted.

"Then a chap from Thames Trains arrived and asked who would like a free taxi ride home!

"So I shared a London taxi back – we dropped one colleague off at Swindon, and the other one left at Churchdown, and then I came on all the way to Broadoak – it was only just as I was leaving it I thought to look at the clock: it was showing £275!"