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T 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 headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. 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 anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, 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 – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. 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.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and taught me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event 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 any situation, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.