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That instant it dawned on me the end was near occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “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 made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which featured a notable act 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 impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.