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The moment I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. 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. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, 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 waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing with anything, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.