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

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

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, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to age.