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The moment I knew my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and got seated in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I whispered, 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 went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to pass the little 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 onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside 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 were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my perspective on other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.