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T I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

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

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope 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 help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, 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 over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.