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That instant I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into 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 catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck 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 pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. 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 enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.