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That instant it dawned on me the end was near came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our families and friends getting the news. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds 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 aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope whatever comes, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to get older.