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The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched 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. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance 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 general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell 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 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 remained friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing any situation, so long as we are together. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.