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That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting 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 slow motion. Suddenly, 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 expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and showed me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered 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" is now our code word for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my method of handling different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to grow older.