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T I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which featured a memorable turn 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 aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and taught me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing 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 full horror of the event. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to grow older.