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That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” 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; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the toilet 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 was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, 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 anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to age.