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The moment I realized the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our families and friends hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She knew 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.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which included a notable act 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 escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort 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 avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope any situation, so long as we are together. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to grow older.