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T I knew I was about to die arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, now unmistakable. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, vision blocked, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I remember thinking our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, too late. I caught sight of a man with his face covered in blood. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped 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, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the 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 approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. As time passed, 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 stayed close for thirty-plus years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was protected from the full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my method of handling different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to age.