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The moment it dawned on me I was about to die arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I whispered, 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; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered 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 over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was protected from the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed my perspective on various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.