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The moment I knew I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air 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. Looking down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our loved ones getting the news. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Later, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, 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. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. 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 waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing with anything, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to age.