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