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The moment it dawned on me the end was near arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A woman screamed 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, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our families and friends hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been using the restroom during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a unforgettable performance 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 escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my perspective on different emergencies, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to age.