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That instant it dawned on me I was about to die arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.