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T I realized my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound 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 waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down 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 saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the toilet during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope any situation, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.