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That instant I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way 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. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. 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, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones getting the news. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” 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; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the lavatory during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She had heard 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.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and taught me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day 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 reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to age.