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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 on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks 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. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, 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 – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only 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 that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope any situation, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my perspective on other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to get older.