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That instant I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, too late. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked 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. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which included 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 escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to get older.