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That instant I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. 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 was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet 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. 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. “The worst has passed,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle any situation, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was protected from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.