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That instant I realized the end was near arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had just relocated 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 placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our families and friends getting the news. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and another traveler requested that I to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and taught me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle whatever comes, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to age.