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T I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our relatives and companions receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I 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. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered 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" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.