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That instant it dawned on me the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks 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. Looking down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be 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 moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man whose face was bloody. 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, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, 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 set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on other types of crises, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.