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The moment it dawned on me I was about to die 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 visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness 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. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle with anything, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed my perspective on different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to get older.