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The moment I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my brand-new 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 woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our families and friends getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler instructed me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. 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. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, visibly shaken. 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 hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and taught me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my method of handling different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to get older.