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T I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite 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 conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our families and friends getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped 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 pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. 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 collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act 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 escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant 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 ability to cope any situation, so long as we are together. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was protected from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed my perspective on other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.