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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 best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our loved ones receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

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

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. 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 – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, 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, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. 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 waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the value of focusing on others 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 stayed close for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to get older.