Roger Mayne - Boys Against a Wall, Dublin 1957

‘Jump off the cliff and learn how to make wings on the way down.’
Ray Bradbury

Over the long hot summers of my childhood, my brother Martin and I would play cricket, collect grasshoppers and dig holes in the back garden.

Our house backed onto a school playing field, and sometimes Jeff Richards and the Chergwin boys would gather on the other side of the fence, so that we could throw mud bombs at each other.

Harmless fun. Though our elderly neighbour, flat-capped Mr Holland, a veteran of the First World War, would look up from his loganberry bushes to warn us of the danger of hidden stones.

‘You’ll take someone’s eye out with that!’

Often Martin and I would clamber up the lilac tree and over the back fence, to join Jeff and the Chergwins in the school playing fields. There, under a bright yellow sun, we would compete in our own Heath Park Road Olympics: racing around the running track, jumping in the sandpit, boxing without gloves.

Technically we were not allowed on the council fields, and when occasionally a light aeroplane flew overhead with its lights blinking, we all threw ourselves face down onto the grass, so as not to be identified in the photographs.

‘Dive! Dive! Quick! It’s the council!’

In retrospect, I guess those were not Havering Council spy planes. They were just regular flights making their approach to a nearby airfield. But the sense of danger, the fear of being identified as trespassers, made it all seem so thrilling.

‘Art is an adventure into an unknown world, which can be explored only by those willing to take risks.’
Mark Rothko

In the world of work, we may also find that we perform better when there is a certain amount of risk – of losing a campaign, of being fired from an account, of missing our numbers. The jeopardy stiffens the sinews, focuses the mind.

Similarly, a rivalry can get the juices flowing. I recall from ‘The Last Dance’ documentary that Michael Jordan would perceive, or even invent, slights, insults or disrespectful gestures from opposing players, so as to motivate himself and his teammates.

Without conflict, competition or peril, there is always the danger of complacency. The effort drops. The pace slackens. The focus drifts.

And so, whatever the task or endeavour, we would all do well to embrace urgency and intensity; to introduce opposition and jeopardy; to reflect on risks and rivalries - whether they be real or imagined.

‘If you practise poetry the way I think it needs to be done, you're going to put yourself in jeopardy.'
Amiri Baraka

'I'm all mixed up inside,
I want to run, but I can't hide.
And however much we try,
We can't escape the truth and the fact is...
Don't matter what I do,
It don't matter what I do,
Don't matter what I do,
Don't matter what I do,
Don't matter what I do,
Because I end up hurting you.
One more covered sigh,
And one more glance you know means goodbye.
Can't you see that's why
We're dashing ourselves against the rocks of a lifetime.
In my mind different voices call.
What once was pleasure now's pain for us all.
In my heart only shadows fall.
I once stood proud, now I feel so small.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
The long hot summer just passed me by.’
Style Council, ‘Long Hot Summer’ (P Weller)

No. 524

Over the long summer holidays Martin and I had an appetite for adventure.

We played cricket in the back garden, made a den in the shed and caught grasshoppers in jam jars. We clambered across the patient branches of the old lilac tree and leapt over the high wire fence into the council-owned sports fields beyond - to join the Chergwins and Richards for makeshift Olympics: jumping in the sandpit, boxing without gloves, running against a cyclist. Technically we were not allowed to play in the council fields, and when occasionally a light aeroplane flew overhead with its lights blinking, we all dived face down onto the grass so as not to be identified in the photographs.

Sometimes Granddad Carroll would take us for long walks in Epping Forest with Chips, his faithful bull terrier. Before we set foot into the vast ancient woodland, he told us to make arrows from twigs and place them periodically along the route – that way we could retrace our steps later, back to the safety of the car park and a hot sweet tea from the tartan Thermos.

And so we set off, scampering past majestic oaks and tall lean silver birch trees, weaving in and out of pathways, diving into ditches, sprinting into clearings. The leaves and moss were soft underfoot, the light dappled from the canopy above. The forest seemed wild and infinite. There were no people, just us.

And every now and then Martin and I carefully placed our twig arrows on the ground to mark the way. We took this responsibility very seriously. The fate of us all depended on it.

Of course, Epping Forest was not quite so immense and treacherous as we imagined. And the twig arrows were surplus to requirement. Granddad knew exactly where we were and how to get back to the car. He just wanted to heighten our sense of adventure.

Granddad was the Good Shepherd, gently guiding us along the right path, steering us through the wild wood to safety – empowering and yet in control, without impressing the fact upon us.

I was reminded of our Epping Forest exploits when I was judging the APG Planning Awards last year.

Many of the case studies broke with convention. They didn’t relate the story of a brilliant analysis or blinding insight. These were not simple linear narratives of before and after. Rather they were tales of Planners quietly, conscientiously coaxing a concept through to fruition; or carefully, cautiously evolving a campaign so that it retained its freshness.

How do you navigate a bold new creative idea through an institution as bureaucratic and conservative as the United Nations? How do you convince a serious-minded enterprise like Greenpeace to adopt a light-hearted communication initiative? How do you maintain consumers’, and indeed Clients’, interest in long-running campaigns like Marmite, IKEA, Change4Life and Audi?

The job of the modern Planner requires that we focus on sustaining and developing an idea as much as having one in the first place. Planners must facilitate and negotiate, illustrate and substantiate. The role has evolved to embrace a wide range of functions: brand design and co-creation, arbitration and diplomacy, codifying and ‘show-running’.

Nowadays Planners must learn to lead, not just from the front, but from the back. It is perhaps a less celebrated, more subtle duty. And one that requires a sensitive hand and an agile mind.

Like the knack for steering unruly children through the depths of the vast forest to safety.

'I hear her voice
Calling my name.
The sound is deep
In the dark.
I hear her voice
And start to run,
Into the trees,
Into the trees.

Suddenly I stop.
But I know it's too late.
I'm lost in a forest,
All alone.
The girl was never there.
It's always the same.
I'm running towards nothing
Again and again and again and again.

The Cure, ‘A Forest’ (R Smith / L Tolhurst / M Hartley / S Gallup)

No. 282

The Havering Council Spy Planes: Jeopardy (Whether Real or Imagined) Stiffens the Sinews and Focuses the Mind

The Good Shepherds: The Planners That Lead from the Back