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T I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. 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, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She was aware 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.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was protected from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed my method of handling various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.