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T I realized my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, 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 flip and explode, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, 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 put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler asked me to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and taught me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to age.