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T I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and settled down in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our families and friends getting the news. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the lavatory during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.