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That instant I knew my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out 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. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our loved ones receiving the notification. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I whispered, 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; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. A large metallic item had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the toilet during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the value of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our capacity to handle whatever comes, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to get older.