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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 best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. 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 glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which included a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. 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 come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed my method of handling different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.