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T I realized I was about to die arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been using the restroom during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope whatever comes, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my perspective on other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.