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That instant I realized the end was near arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and taught me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, 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 now been friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.