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That instant I realized the end was near arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator 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. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the toilet during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. 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.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, 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 skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.