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The moment it dawned on me the end was near arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “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 weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

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. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed my perspective on different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to age.