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T 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 on our way to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air 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. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; 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, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the toilet during the incident. 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 was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. 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 anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was protected from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.