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T I knew the end was near occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials 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. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched 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. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy 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 guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to age.