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That instant I knew I was about to die arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. 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 into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle with anything, provided we have each other. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed the way I approach other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.