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The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a comfortable double seat. 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 lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I glimpsed a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger instructed me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, who it turned out had been in the toilet during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and carried on with our night out, which featured a notable act 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 violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally 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 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 created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered my perspective on other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is always a privilege to grow older.