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The moment I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, 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 roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. 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, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and taught me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.