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That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our loved ones getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, 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 – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were transported to the 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 come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus 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 made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my method of handling various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to get older.