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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 headed to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and got seated in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware 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. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we learned a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that 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 key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and demonstrated 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 now been friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.