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The moment I realized I was about to die arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. 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. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities 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. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out 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 – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, 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 capacity to handle any situation, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.