'It would be a gross exaggeration to say that Skiddaw is to Keswick what the Matterhorn is to Zermatt, but there is a certain affinity…'

Well, if it's good enough for the legendary Alfred Wainwright, I too would like to join in with this 'let's compare hills' game and say that I believe that the Chilterns are to Hitchin what the Matterhorn is to Zermatt.

Do you not agree? Well, as if to help prove my point, this venerable godfather of hillwalking then finishes his comparison thus: 'both are magnets that catch the eye whenever seen and draw the feet towards them, both are greatly loved by those who are privileged to live in their company.'

I rest my case.

So here is my own love letter to the Chilterns on this, St Valentine's day. And like all true love, we need to remind ourselves every now and then just how lucky we are to have the object of our affection in our lives.

And like all such letters it is personal as these fine hills easily warrant a whole book to themselves it is inevitably selective. What you find special may have been missed, so please let us know what it is that you love about this special landscape.

Most maps and descriptions of the Chilterns tend to agree that Hitchin marks the northern end of this fair ridge of hills that stretch some 45 miles from the banks of the River Thames at the Goring Gap in south Oxfordshire.

The hills are formed of soft chalk that was originally laid down in warm, shallow lime-rich tropical seas some 70 to 95 million years ago.

As a result they were never destined to reach the heady heights and rugged grandeur of some of the showier, brasher uplands of England with their tough limestone, millstone grit, sandstone and granite roots: there's nothing so in-your-face as a rugged peak or a gaping gorge here, no siree.

Our hills have a softer, gentler beauty and although rarely dramatic, they still form a landscape that can 'catch the eye and draw the feet gently upwards' quite effectively.

In outline the Chilterns are just one largely continuous chalk escarpment for the whole of their length, with their steeper scarp slope facing north west and the gentler dip slope looking to the south east.

This is neatly encapsulated by the situation of Deacon Hill, Telegraph Hill, Barton Springs and Sharpenhoe Clappers whose slopes do indeed all face roughly north. On the more gently downward sloping ground behind them sit countless woods, gentle valleys, the odd stream, meadows, pasture and many of our most charming local villages, including Lilley, Offley, Kings Walden and Preston.

Further afield you can get a fine impression of the scale and height of this escarpment as you head into the home counties from the midlands using either the M40, the west coast mainline, the Grand Union Canal or any number of other roads that head into the hills.

Whichever route you use you can't miss the looming horizon-filling ridge of the Chilterns, topped with its own jaunty crown of trees.

A southbound traveller's acquaintance with the hills will be fleeting, however, as after ten miles or so they will have crossed them completely- they are that narrow- and they will then be descending gently towards the Thames valley or the capital itself.

It is at Haddington Hill in the dense Wendover woods that these hills reach their highest point: 267 metres (875 feet).

By means of comparison, our local favourite, Deacon Hill in Pegsdon, is a relative minnow at only 173 metres (567 feet); but based on the amount of joy that the latter brings us locals, it just goes to show that size isn't everything- especially when it comes to beauty or popularity.

However, the woodland around Wendover does hide something that we can't quite match: due to its beauty, relative isolation and easy accessibility, the 16th century house and estate at Chequers has been the country retreat of various prime ministers since 1921.

This whole area is well criss-crossed with footpaths and great parking, so once lockdown is eased it is possible to have a good snoop around to see what- and who- you can see.

And with the rather excellent new Worzel Gummidge television series also being filmed on the NT's Ashridge Estate a few miles away you could well bump into the popular tousle-haired clown.

It is along the steep scarp slope that you will find some of the Chiltern's most dramatic scenery: the popular downs at Dunstable with their long views and the ever-present breeze that hosts the kite flyers and the gliders; the recently restored 1930's lion carved into the chalk slope nearby, advertising the ZSL's wilder outpost of Whipsnade; Ivinghoe Beacon, that gives great views and marks the start of the ancient Ridgeway National Trail to Wiltshire and, of course, our very own Sharpenhoe Clappers, whose delights we commented on just a few weeks ago.

I could go on.

But the Chilterns aren't all about these perennially popular headline-grabbing places as there are many quieter spots tucked-away from the steep scarp that are also worth a quiet exploration, their delights being far less immediately obvious.

It is a rolling landscape criss-crossed by flint strewn hedge-lined lanes, dotted with pretty villages, woods, spinneys and stands of that most Chiltern of trees: the magnificent beech, which I'm sure warrants- and is sure to get- a whole article all to itself come the spring.

The cumulative effect of these disparate elements puts me in mind of the idealised 'Deep England' as seen in the more peaceful work of the esteemed war artist, Eric Ravilious: there are some striking similarities between the idealised chalk downland seen in his paintings and this, the landscape that lies within a couple of miles of Hitchin itself.

What could be better on a warm spring morning than a languorous wander through this world, especially when serenaded by ascending skylarks and keening kites along the way?

And if possible, pausing for a welcome pint in a pub garden at the end. That would be the cherry on the cake. All in good time.

See, heaven is a place on earth, after all.

Chiltern Morning

Beneath your emerald, your ermine cloak billowing and soft

Trimmed with the collars of the may and strafed by the diving hawk.

Softened by the haze of June

But felt in the heart of the few.