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The moment I realized the end was near arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our families and friends getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “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 discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to give the 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 likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the toilet during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, 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.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on 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. Over the years, I have frequently pondered 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 That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, provided we have each other. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to age.