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T I knew the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and got seated in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to grow older.