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That instant I realized I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My closest companion, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we traveled by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – in the storage compartment and settled down in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don't turn around,” Helen yelled, too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we learned a runaway digger had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger requested that I to hand the child over so he could assist her exit through the opening, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the lavatory during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her 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 memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. There were no fatalities in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself 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 ability to cope any situation, as long as we're side by side. 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, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to age.