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T I knew the end was near occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped 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 help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been using the restroom during the incident. 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 was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds 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 sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope whatever comes, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to grow older.