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T I realized my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles 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, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our loved ones getting the news. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down 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 provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a unforgettable performance 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 sustained only bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.