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T 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 reunite with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, 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 put my 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. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, 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 down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and taught me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.