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That instant I knew the end was near occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

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 made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and collided with 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 help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, 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 thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to get older.