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That instant I realized my life was in danger occurred in 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 made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse 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 at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself 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 more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my perspective on 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.