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T I knew the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler 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. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, 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, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my method of handling other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.