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The moment I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had made a new home there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we traveled by train from York.

We stashed our bags – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and got seated 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, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Looking down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our families and friends getting the news. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had penetrated the window behind us. Afterward, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby asked me to hand the child over so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom during the incident. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our friend was waiting, pale with worry. She knew there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and offered her a hot drink while she anticipated updates.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved 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 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 key factor in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and soothing her shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the importance of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope with anything, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my perspective on various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it remains a gift to get older.