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T I realized my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a comfortable double seat. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions receiving the notification. Then I heard the child sobbing.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was protected from the worst of the situation. The crash also changed my perspective on different emergencies, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is always a privilege to age.