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That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the social gathering to come, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items 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 dimly aware of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to flip and explode, similar to cinematic scenes. I recall pondering our loved ones getting the news. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, my tone was hoarse. “It’s all over,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, too late. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had smashed through 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 carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and a man nearby requested that I to give the girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, as kids were being rescued to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and climbing down a ladder down to the rails.

Standing on firm land again – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine was unharmed. 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 host was there, pale with worry. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

With the invincibility of youth, we set the accident aside 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, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in preventing major harm. Since nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Attending to her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how significant 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 skill in managing any situation, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the worst of the situation. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is invariably an honor to grow older.