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That instant it dawned on me I was about to die arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had recently moved 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 stashed our bags – containing vital items 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 lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, too late. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our car was lodged with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and another traveler asked me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. 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. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close 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 made it feel as if I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.