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That instant I realized I was about to die arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, 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. I recall pondering our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

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 moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to pass the little 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 similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered 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 skill in managing with anything, so long as we are together. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to get older.