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T I knew I was about to die arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way 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 enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out 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, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” 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 appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder 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 observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a free cab 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 guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, 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" is now our code word for our skill in managing any situation, so long as we are together. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.