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That instant I realized I was about to die arrived during my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to visit a friend from college who had just relocated there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we chatted nonstop as we traveled by train from York.

We put our suitcases – full of essentials such as our favorite wines and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A woman screamed as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a dreamlike pace. All at once, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I expected the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the young girl weeping.

“Everything is okay,” I said softly, my voice sounding croaky. “It’s all over,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I moved to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen shouted, too late. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had penetrated the window behind us. Subsequently, we found out a driverless construction vehicle had rolled down the hill and collided with the train, causing us to derail.

Our carriage was stuck with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and another traveler requested that I to give the girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to waiting firefighters. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder down to the rails.

Once back on solid ground – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. I searched 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. One of the passengers plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – though luckily our wine stayed unbroken. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we made our way in a complimentary taxi 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 railway official had escorted her to an office and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which included a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. Since nobody was badly hurt allowed us not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Looking after her and reassuring her 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, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident created the sensation that I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and serving as a reminder that, no matter how dire circumstances appear, it is invariably an honor to grow older.