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T I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly 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 comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward 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. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our loved ones receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, 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 moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down 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 watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune 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 broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and taught me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle with anything, 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 the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to grow older.