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The moment I realized my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend 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 made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the lavatory during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope with anything, so long as we are together. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was protected from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my perspective on various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.