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That instant I knew my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, 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 wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to grow older.