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The moment 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 on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Back on terra firma – 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 using the restroom at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to get older.