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T it dawned on me the end was near arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best 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. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed 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 using the restroom at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which included a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though 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 approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event 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 made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.