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T it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, 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 – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though 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 crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was protected from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.