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That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, 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 talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down 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 saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office 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 featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort 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 avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to get older.