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T it dawned on me the end was near arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and settled down in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions receiving the notification. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with 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 key factor in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and taught me the value of focusing on others 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 over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing whatever comes, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to age.