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That instant it dawned on me the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest 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. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy 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 prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope whatever comes, so long as we are together. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed my method of handling other types of crises, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.