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T it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked 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, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. 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. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me 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 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 looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. 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 offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades 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 gave me the impression I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to grow older.