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The moment I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, 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 put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and taught me the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.