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T it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our families and friends getting the news. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been in the lavatory during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a memorable turn 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 sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the importance 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 now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.