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That instant it dawned on me the end was near occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and settled down in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed 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 in the toilet during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, 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. No one died in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to get older.