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That instant I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man 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 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 set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. 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 primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle with anything, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.