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T I knew I was about to die arrived during my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and enjoying the thought of the upcoming weekend of fun, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and the clogs I had just bought – above our heads and got seated in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Another one sounded, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. In an instant, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I stated, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and appeared to be completely on her own. 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. “Don’t look round,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I caught sight of a man whose face was bloody. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Afterward, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our carriage was stuck with its front end in the air. Following that came of sirens and another traveler instructed me to hand the child over so he could help her out the window, where children were being evacuated to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and climbing down a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I looked for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been using the restroom at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine remained intact. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the lady who had caused the luggage to burst. Our friend was waiting, ashen-faced. She knew there had been a derailment and a railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she anticipated updates.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and carried on with our night out, which involved a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the violent forward motion in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. Given that nobody was badly hurt helped not to obsess over the “what ifs” but that young girl who changed my outlook profoundly. Looking after her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and demonstrated the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event 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 full horror of the event. The accident additionally altered my method of handling various difficult situations, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it is invariably an honor to get older.