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The moment it dawned on me I was about to die occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – above our heads and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I remember thinking our loved ones getting the news. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

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. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was protected from the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed my perspective on different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to grow older.