MONDAY is one of the most famous milestones of the year, not only in rural Britain, but also further afield in both town and country.

It is the feast day of St Valentine, now widely known as Valentine's Day, which has become associated with human love and romance rather than anything connected with saints or religion.

Exactly how or why that day became associated with love and romance is not very clear. There are several saints called Valentine, three of whom celebrate their feast days on February 14, with relics of a further five scattered around several Rome churches. Indeed, a Catholic church in Ireland and another in Glasgow also possess relics of St Valentine, but precisely which of the Valentines remains doubtful.

Perhaps the best known of the saints was a physician/priest called Valentine who was martyred in Rome in 269 AD and in whose honour the church of St Valentine was built on the Flaminian Way in the fourth century.

However, research into the lives of the St Valentines has shown nothing which might have led to the custom of sending secret messages as a token of one's love. In fact, most of the Valentines were unmarried priests, so it is hardly likely they would indulge in love and romance in such a way, but one reason for our heart-fluttering custom may be the legend that birds mate at this time.

This belief has existed since medieval times, not only in this country but also on the Continent, but that idea may in turn have come from an earlier celebration. In pagan times, there used to be a mid-February feast known as Lupercalia. This was held on February 14 in honour of Pan, who was the god of pastures, forests, flocks and herds of animals, his name coming from the Latin pascere, meaning "to graze."

However, there were several gods called Pan, one of whom was the Lycaean Pan, who was especially honoured because he protected flocks from wolves. He was also known as Lupercus.

Celebration of the feast of Lupercus became known as the Luperealia, but this is not connected with an area of ancient Rome known as the Lupercal. That is the legendary place where the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus, were suckled by a wolf, the name coming from the Latin lupus, meaning wolf.

Instead, the Lupercalia became an excuse for feasting and dancing which in time developed into a fertility celebration. It was this link with fertility which probably gave rise to the story of birds selecting their mates at that time which, in turn, led people to believe that humans should do likewise.

One feature of the Lupercalia was the giving of presents to the person of one's desire, which might have developed into the sending of cards adorned with cupids or hearts.

Precisely when the first Valentine card was used is very much in doubt, but one of the first recorded instances was noted by Samuel Pepys in his diary in 1667. Will, the young son of Mrs Pepys' maid, sent it to Mrs Pepys for reasons which remain mysterious, although another prevailing custom was to exchange gifts. Women would be given gloves or garters by adoring gentlemen and, although the Puritans tried to abolish this feast day, it survived.

Perhaps the habit of sending cards really started with the introduction of the penny post which, by 1815, was operating in most villages and hamlets throughout the country. To mark St Valentine's links with, and undoubted benefits to, the Post Office, he appeared on a postage stamp in 1981.

My postbag has been heavy this week and among my correspondence is a letter from a woman in Durham City who is concerned about hedgehogs awaking too early from their hibernation.

This raises the question of whether our winters are truly growing milder, with some authorities suggesting that spring now begins some three weeks earlier than it did, say, half a century ago. Certainly, I heard a blackbird singing more than a fortnight ago and there can be little doubt that our winters do not produce the quantity of snow or frost we have experienced in the past.

Another woman from Darley, near Harrogate, has written about the problem of moles on her lawn. With more than a touch of humour, she tells how she bought two devices for deterring moles and installed them on her lawn before going away for a week's holiday. They were similar to the one I have used, ie a battery-operated gadget which produces a bleeping sound every few seconds which is supposed to prevent moles coming anywhere near it. Upon her return, however, she found it almost hidden beneath a brand new molehill! Do moles have a sense of humour, wonder? Or were they merely trying to silence the device by smothering it?

Another letter comes from a reader at Lealholm in Yorkshire's Eskdale, who has sent me copies of a new local magazine called Valley News. This is an extremely well-produced and highly readable monthly periodical which comes from the Fryup Press at Bracken Hill, Glaisdale, Whitby, YO21 2QZ.

Edited by Ann Bowes and costing £1, the first issue appeared in September last year and it has appeared monthly since that date, being a collection of news, views and anecdotes from Fryup, Houlsyke, Lealholm and Glaisdale. I congratulate Ann on her highly professional production - this is far more than just another parish magazine.

From the same reader, I have received the following poem. Neither the date nor author is known, for it appeared pinned to the wall of a farm in Berwickshire.

It reads: "Blood sports, blood sports," I heard them cry, as they watched the hunt go galloping by. Mrs Brown went home to her snug little house, put cheese in a trap and caught a fat mouse. Mrs Black went home and tidied her room, then swept all the spiders down with a broom. Mrs Green hung a paper for catching the flies, the insect gets stuck and struggles and dies. Mrs Grey scattered powder for killing the ants, then took a syringe and sprayed all her plants. Green fly and black fly, oh how they all died - "That's a good job," she said with much pride. Said Mrs Green, "I've found a wasps' nest, so I'll burn them all out, that will be best." In the evening, just as the sun went down, the hunters came riding back into town. Oh yes, they'd had a wonderful day, they'd galloped for miles and the fox got away. But the fox came back, he too had some luck. He brought home for supper the Browns' fattest duck.

For the past week or so, a pair of male blackbirds have been conspicuous in our garden. They have not been fighting or even arguing, but simply running around the borders and across the lawn, apparently in pursuit of one another as they seek food. I wondered if they were in the early stages of competing, either for the lady of their choice or perhaps for the best nesting site, or even trying to claim an individual piece of territory. Whatever their purpose, they are most peaceful about it.

Then, minutes before compiling these notes, they were joined by another male and a female. As I write these words, therefore, we have four blackbirds in our garden, where at the moment all is sweetness and light. It is about this time, however, that the males begin their courtship rituals, with the male running around with his tail fanned and his wings drooping. With three males competing for the attention of a lone female, it is quite likely that things will grow more exciting as the days go by.

I do not know which of our three splendid fellows was singing rather earlier than normal, but there can be no doubt the blackbird is the finest of our songsters, a sure sign that spring is not far away. While he sings, though, his partner has the job of building the nest. Her beau might lend a hand from time to time, but it is mainly her job to collect the materials and fashion the bowl-shaped nest which will become home to her brood, probably some time in March if the weather permits.

Most years we have had a blackbirds' nest in our garden and it seems this year will be no exception. I just hope the neighbourhood cats don't find it - they have destroyed several nests in the past as they display their unwelcome and unseen traits as dangerous and skilled predators