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T I knew I was about to die arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our families and friends hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, too late. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a man nearby asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She was aware 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 pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the value of focusing on others 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 now been friends for more than three decades and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed my method of handling other types of crises, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to age.