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That instant I knew my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had just relocated 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 – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones getting the news. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. 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. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to grow older.