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The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. 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 dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. 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. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself 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 thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope whatever comes, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my method of handling different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.