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That instant I realized my life was in danger occurred in 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. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the toilet during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. 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.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus 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 gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.