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The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our relatives and companions receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

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 went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to hand the child over 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 likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my perspective on different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.