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That instant I realized my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed 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 upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and settled down 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, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

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 went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler instructed me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing 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 – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. 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, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and taught me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.