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T I realized my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and settled down in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to 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 whispered, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, 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 yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill and smashed into our carriage, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its front end in the air. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, 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, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea 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 involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and taught me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, 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 skill in managing any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day made it feel as if I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.