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T I knew I was about to die arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as bottles of wine and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, 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 receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I murmured, 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; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, 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. Afterward, we found out a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been using the restroom during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman 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 put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was protected from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to get older.