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The moment I knew the end was near occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I expected 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.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler requested that I to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a notable act 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 escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle any situation, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.