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The moment I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as wine bottles 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 vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like a dreamlike pace. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I anticipated the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones hearing the tragic update. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, primarily to calm my own nerves.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; here was my chance to help. I went to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, but it was already too late. I saw a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, making the train leave the tracks.

Our car was lodged with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby instructed me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Shortly after, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Once back on solid ground – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and offered her a hot drink while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance 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 sustained only bruises and general soreness from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to dwell on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Looking after her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and taught me the importance of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our skill in managing 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 various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to get older.