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That instant I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily 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 complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression 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 serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to get older.