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The moment it dawned on me the end was near arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder 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 watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard 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 put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing any situation, so long as we are together. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.