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The moment I realized I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we chatted nonstop 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 – on the overhead rack and settled down in a comfortable double seat. Roughly halfway through 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 a delayed sequence. Suddenly, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. Then I heard the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, mostly for my own benefit.

She appeared to be seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her sobbing snapped me back to reality; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man whose face was bloody. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and smashed into our carriage, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could assist her exit through the opening, 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 – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, as it transpired had been using the restroom when the crash occurred. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, accompanied by a young man and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and continued with our evening plans, 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 required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to come into Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle with anything, so long as we are together. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was insulated from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered the way I approach different emergencies, giving me perspective – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to get older.