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The moment I knew the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. 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, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill 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 man nearby asked me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

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, who it turned out had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. 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.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which involved 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 escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing whatever comes, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.