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That instant I realized the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our families and friends getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, 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 crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant 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, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.