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That instant I knew the end was near arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the value of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.