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The moment I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, 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. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and taught me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed my perspective on other types of crises, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.