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T I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our loved ones getting the news. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had smashed through 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 carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope any situation, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to grow older.