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T I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our loved ones getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the toilet during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She was aware 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.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and showed me the value of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my method of handling various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to age.