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T it dawned on me the end was near occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted 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 on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a notable act 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 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 crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my method of handling different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to age.