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That instant I knew my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. 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 catapulted upward 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, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I recall pondering our loved ones receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a runaway digger had tumbled down the embankment and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our university friend greeted us, visibly shaken. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, 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 got away 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 primary reason in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and taught me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle whatever comes, provided we have each other. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was shielded against the full horror of the event. The crash also changed the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to get older.