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The moment it dawned on me my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to reunite with a friend from college who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as wine bottles and my brand-new black clogs – on the overhead rack and settled down in a snug pair of seats. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Another one sounded, which could not be dismissed. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was thrown up into the air in what felt like slow motion. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, clinging to one another. With my head lowered, eyelids tightly closed, I waited for the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the child sobbing.

“You’re all right,” I murmured, my voice sounding croaky. “It's finished now,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

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 moved to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Don’t look round,” Helen called out, 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 discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to emergency personnel below. A few minutes later, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and descending via a ladder onto the railway line.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – uncontrollable shivers took over. My eyes scanned for the little girl and saw her being scooped up by her mum, who it turned out had been in the toilet when the crash occurred. An emergency worker helpfully fetched my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. After a half-hour wait, we proceeded in a provided car to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. 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 offered her a hot drink while she hoped for information.

Bolstered by youthful resilience, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, even though several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and general soreness from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to obsess over the “what ifs” but the child was the one who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down helped take my mind off myself and showed me the value of directing attention externally in a crisis. As time passed, I have repeatedly asked myself if she had any memory of the event, and how significant it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for more than three decades and Pudsey has become shorthand for our skill in managing with anything, as long as we're side by side. Having her companionship during the accident gave me the impression I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reminding me that, however bad things seem, it remains a gift to age.