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That instant it dawned on me the end was near occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler collapsed 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 friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over 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 taught me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.