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That instant I realized the end was near occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, 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 our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our loved ones receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped 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 pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. 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. 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. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to age.