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That instant I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit an old university friend who had recently moved there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I remember thinking our families and friends receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although 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 approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was protected from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed my perspective on various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.