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The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, 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 flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our families and friends getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

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 wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard 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 set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing whatever comes, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.