A wave of mild hysteria swept across the region this week as towns up and down the highway reported dwindling fuel supplies. Drivers were spotted forming queues longer than a Centrelink phone wait, clutching jerry cans like they were rare artefacts from a bygone civilisation. Rumours spread faster than a harvest fire: “No fuel by lunchtime!”, “Servo’s dry!”, “Someone filled a Hilux AND a boat—selfish bugger!”

Local councils issued calm, measured statements encouraging residents to “avoid panic buying,” which of course triggered even more panic buying. One town reportedly saw a man attempt to siphon petrol from his own lawnmower “just in case.”

But in the midst of the chaos, one community remained perfectly, serenely unfazed.

Burren Junction.

While the rest of the region scrambled, Burren locals simply shrugged, sipped their coffees, and carried on with their day. When asked how they were staying so calm during the crisis, one resident replied:

“Mate… Burren Junction ran out of petrol 15 years ago.”
 

Author - Stephen Gardiner

My name is Rob Bell, and I was born in East Bankstown (later Greenacre) in 1945, into a solid working-class family. By 1964, 5 years after leaving Punchbowl Boys High, I was requested by the local gendarmes to leave town. This was also issued to many of my friends who, like myself, travelled down the wrong roadway.

A friend who had been off the scene for a while was back in town and was going on about working on the railway as a fettler in a place called Burren Junction. Where the hell is B.J., we all cried, North West NSW, have you heard of Walgett? Well, it's this side of Walgett, and they are looking for workers.

So come Monday, we all troop down to Central Station (about 6 of us) for a medical and get the guts on this Fettler business. Being good, strong Aussie boys with an average age of around 20, we were in. Some of us were sent to Cryon and others to BJ.