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T it dawned on me I was about to die arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and got seated in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our families and friends getting the news. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

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

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a notable act 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 escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and taught me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered 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 over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing any situation, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to grow older.