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The moment I knew I was about to die arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our relatives and companions receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved 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 his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, 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 onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with 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 key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to age.