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That instant it dawned on me I was about to die occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My closest companion, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. I recall pondering our families and friends receiving the notification. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, speaking with a rasp. “The worst has passed,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her crying shook me out of my trance; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don’t look round,” Helen shouted, but it was already too late. I saw a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Then came the noise of sirens and a fellow passenger asked me to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down down to the rails.

Back on terra firma – adjacent to a storage building in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, who it turned out had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – but, by good fortune our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we traveled in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our university friend greeted us, ashen-faced. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and continued with our evening plans, which included a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to focus on the “what ifs” but that young girl who left a lasting impact on me. Taking care of her and reassuring her helped take my mind off myself and showed me the importance of looking outwards in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered 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 more than three decades and That location's name now symbolizes for our ability to cope with anything, provided we have each other. Her presence that fateful day made it feel as if I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The accident additionally altered my method of handling other types of crises, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.