For this blog Lynn and I thought we would have some fun and conduct an experiment and see what sort of results AI could give us, to provide information about the Billinghay Feast and also to write a short fictional story about the history of the Feast using fictional characters based on the history that AI could find.

We would love to hear your thoughts about this.

Just to reassure everyone, we won’t be writing all our future blogs with AI, but it’s been fascinating and fun as an experiment. We used ChatGPT. We also asked the site to create pictures to go with the story and history of the Feast.

AI collects information from so many sources on the internet and also gives you many different links to follow. Asking for information and help, and also asking AI to create images, takes a bit of trial and error, as it’s all down to the wording that you write in your question.

The right question.

Still learning how to phrase the questions correctly, but it’s fun experimenting!

Here’s the question we put to AI: What is the story of the History of Billinghay Feast day in October, and are there any special things about it I should include in a story about it?

Results from AI.

Here’s a summary of Billinghay Feast (October) — its history, peculiarities, and what might make good ingredients if you want to write a story about it. If you like, I can also suggest characters or local colour to bring it to life.

What is Billinghay Feast? Billinghay Feast (or simply “the Feast”) is a traditional fun-fair / village festival in Billinghay, Lincolnshire. It happens every October, on the first Sunday after 11 October. The fair is situated in the field adjacent to the Coach and Horses public house. It lasts for about five days.

History and Traditions.

Some of the traditions and historical practices of the Feast are quite rich and specific. Here are a few of them:

There is (or was) an old statute (local legal custom) which says the field next to the Coach and Horses must be available for the Feast. Locals take the right of the Feast being held there seriously.

As children in the 1940s-1950s, the first sign that the Feast was coming was the arrival of the “Donkey Man.” He would come in a horse-drawn caravan with donkeys (and sometimes wild ponies).

The Feast is strongly tied to community, family, and heritage. It’s one of the main times of year that old local families get together; it carries a sense of continuity.

Food Traditions.

A central traditional dish is stuffed chine. “Chine” refers to a cut of pork near the back (near the spine). In Billinghay, one of the pigs that many households had was slaughtered in preparation. The chine (especially the chine closest to the pig’s head) was salted, kept, then later soaked, scored, stuffed with parsley, and boiled. Each family had their own technique and taste.

The process of preparing the parsley stuffing was communal and laborious: “picking” the parsley (removing woody stalks), washing, mincing (or grinding), stuffing each vertical cut, etc. Often, the whole family helped.

Other Traditions (now partly or fully lost)

Bowling for a pig: once a popular competition/prize. The pig was fattened for a year; a very useful prize in pre-modern times when livestock and home‐slaughtering for meat and lard was central to rural self-sufficiency.

A “potman” – a person whose job was to replace broken domestic crockery (cups, plates, dishes) damaged over the year; during the Feast, he sold replacements at low prices. This was valued especially by working‐class households.

What Makes It Special / What To Include in a Story.

If you’re going to write a story (fiction or non-fiction) about Billinghay Feast, here are special features and angles that give it character:

Sense of place. The field next to the pub (Coach and Horses), in a small village setting.

Tight-knit community: different generations, old families, newcomers.

The anticipation/build-up. Children hear rumours about whether the Feast will arrive.

The arrival of the Donkey Man as a sign.

The preparation of food (especially the stuffed chine), work done in advance over months or the year (fattening pigs, preserving meats).

Food as symbol. The stuffed chine process, its smells, its taste.

How food is shared, how it connects generations.

The Old versus The New.

Things that have vanished (bowling-for-a-pig, the potman).

Traditions that are harder to maintain (domestic pig slaughter).

How modern concerns (health, fewer people with direct farming / butchering experience) affect the old ways.

Community rituals / characters.

Local experts: people who always do certain things (curing meat, cooking, organising).

The Donkey Man, the potman — colourful side characters.

Young people saving up for the fair.

Legal/Customary rights.

The old statute that ensures the field is available. That gives a sense of heritage and law holding culture in place. It could be source of conflict or drama: what if that right is threatened?

Temporal setting. The Feast happens in autumn: weather, harvest time, fading light, cooling air. This can be atmospheric.

Working with the rhythms of rural life: harvests, pig fattening, preserving, etc.

Emotional resonance. Nostalgia: for older villagers remembering things as they were.

Fear of traditions disappearing. Joy, childish wonder at the fair.

If you want, I can pull up stories or oral histories from people in Billinghay, so you can get quotes or details to enrich the story. Do you want me to dig those up? What I can do next (pick one)

1)Compile direct quotes & short oral-history snippets from the Billinghay History Group, local blogs and newspaper archives (I’ll pull specific sentences you can quote and provide citations).

2)Write a 600–900-word short story scene set at Billinghay Feast using the details above (characters: Donkey Man, a family preparing stuffed chine, a teenager confronting change).

3)Produce a list of 8–10 historically plausible characters/mini-scenes you can drop into a longer work (with sensory beats and one-line motives).

So we picked option 2 and it created the following story, which actually is quite good!

Fictional STORY about the Billinghay Feast.

Here’s a self-contained short story scene (about 800 words) set at Billinghay Feast in October. I’ve woven in the donkey man, stuffed chine preparation, the fairground, and the tension of tradition vs. change.

The Feast Field.

The first hint that the Feast was near was not the clatter of wagons or the painted lights of the fairground rides, but the rattle of hooves down the high street. Children scattered from the ginnels, shouting, “He’s here! The Donkey Man’s come!”

Elsie wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and leaned out of her doorway just in time to see the shaggy ponies clip past, their breath puffing in the autumn chill. The man himself sat hunched on his caravan seat, cap pulled low, the donkeys clopping faithfully behind. Elsie’s heart lifted. It didn’t matter that she was forty-seven, with hands stiff from laundry and a husband grumbling in the back room—the Donkey Man always brought the promise of colour to Billinghay.

By evening the Feast field, behind the Coach and Horses, was alive with hammering and shouts. Wagons unfolded into stalls; iron frames sprouted into merry-go-rounds. The smell of paraffin lanterns and horse-sweat mixed with the tang of the damp grass.

In Elsie’s kitchen, the work was just as fierce. Her daughter May stood at the table, green flecks all over her pinafore.

“Not like that,” Elsie scolded. She pulled the bowl toward her. “Pick the parsley clean, no stalks. Mince it fine or it won’t pack proper.”

May rolled her eyes. “No one cares how neat the stuffing is, Ma. Everyone’ll be at the rides, not our table.”

“You’ll see,” Elsie said, drawing the salted chine from its pan of water. The pork was pale, scored with knife cuts running deep toward the bone. She pressed the parsley mixture into the grooves, the smell sharp and grassy, mingling with the brine. “This is Feast food. Your gran did it this way, and I’ll not be the one to let it slip.”

Outside, laughter carried from the field as the first bulbs flickered on. Elsie felt May’s gaze lingering at the window.

“You can go help your Uncle Ted later with the stall,” Elsie allowed, softening. “But first we finish this. Feast don’t taste right without chine.”

Sunday came, cold and bright. The bells had scarcely finished ringing when the lanes flooded with people—farmers in their best coats, children with coins clutched tight, cousins visiting from Lincoln. The fairground blared music; the swing boats creaked; the smell of frying sugar doughnuts drifted across the crowd.

Elsie carried her platter of stuffed chine, slices ribboned pink and green, to the long trestle under the elm. Neighbours crowded round, nodding approval. Mr. Barker, the wheelwright, took a piece between thick fingers. “Aye, that’s chine proper. Reminds me of my mother’s.”

Elsie’s pride flared—until she saw May slipping away through the throng, laughter on her lips as she joined a group of youths headed for the shooting gallery.

By dusk, the Feast was in full roar. Men bowled wooden balls at stacked pins, hoping to win a piglet penned squealing at the edge of the field. Children begged rides on the donkeys. The Donkey Man, his face lined like dried leather, pocketed coppers and called to the beasts in a tongue older than the fair itself.

Elsie found herself by the fence, watching May among the swirl of rides and coloured lights. For a moment she felt the tug of years—that the girl’s future was already pulling her away, toward new amusements and modern tastes. Would May keep the chine alive, or let it fade with the old ways, like the potman’s stall and the bowling green?

A sudden flare of fireworks burst above the Feast, scattering sparks over the crowd. Children screamed with delight. Elsie lifted her chin. Perhaps change was inevitable, but tonight the air was still thick with parsley and pork, the donkeys still clopped along the trampled grass, and the villagers of Billinghay still gathered in the old field.

Tradition, she thought, was not just food or field or statute. It was the gathering itself, the people coming back year after year, answering the call of the Feast.

She turned back to the trestle, where only scraps of chine remained. May might wander, but she would come home hungry. And when she did, the taste of parsley and salt would remind her who she was, and where.

We do hope that you’ve enjoyed our experiment with AI. Do let us know what you think.

Memory of the Feast (Early 1970s)

I remember my father taking us to the feast in the early 1970s. It was lively — bustling with locals, the fairground lights casting a warm glow over the crowds. The air was filled with laughter, music, and the scent of food. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I also remember the stuffed chine — and how much I loved it.

As always, if you can share any old photos or stories about The Billinghay Feast with me or have any connections, I would love to hear from you. Please comment here or email jackocats2@gmail.com