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T I realized I was about to die arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was dimly aware of a bang. This was followed by a second, now unmistakable. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a delayed sequence. In an instant, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and into the side of the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She had heard 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.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down distracted me from my own fear and showed me the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. In the decades since, I have repeatedly asked myself if she remembered anything about it, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope with anything, as long as we're side by side. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was insulated from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to age.