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T I knew the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. 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 somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and taught me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered 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 That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed my method of handling various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.