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T I realized I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones getting the news. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler requested that I to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included 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 impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and taught me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my perspective on various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.