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That instant I knew my life was in danger occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – above our heads and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, vision blocked, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I caught sight of a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a runaway digger had rolled down the hill 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 asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. A fellow passenger sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, despite the fact that several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort 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. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to grow older.