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The moment I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into 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 thrown up into the air 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. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our loved ones receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, 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 waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured 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 sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.