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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 traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I remember thinking our families and friends getting the news. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler requested that I to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. 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 rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which included a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped 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 showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was protected from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to get older.