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That instant I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It's finished now,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself 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 That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to grow older.