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The moment I realized my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and got seated in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, 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 thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to grow older.