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The moment 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 former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. 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, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to give the girl to him so he could help her out 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 descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that 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 train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my method of handling different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.