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T it dawned on me the end was near occurred in 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 just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware 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 slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we found out a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how significant 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. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my perspective on other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.