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That instant I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through 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 – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the lady 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.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which included a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.