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The moment I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and got seated in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be 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 moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the lady who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, visibly shaken. 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 anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which included a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and soothing her helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our ability to cope any situation, so long as we are together. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.