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That instant it dawned on me I was about to die occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into 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 thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler asked me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, we later learned had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Taking care of her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The derailment further transformed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to age.