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That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our loved ones getting the news. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – 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, as it transpired had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and continued with our evening plans, which featured a memorable turn 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 force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. The fact 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. Taking care of her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have repeatedly asked myself if she recalled any details, and how significant 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, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to grow older.