Shaun and Caroline Tullier envisioned dust and delays when they purchased their Guernsey home five years ago – the typical renovation challenges. They never anticipated unearthing a chilling secret buried twenty-six feet beneath their feet: a hidden Nazi bunker, a relic of a dark and distant war.
The couple moved to Torteval in 2021, aware the land had seen use during the German occupation of the 1940s. Shaun knew the foundations had once stored munitions, but a persistent feeling lingered – a sense that something more substantial lay hidden below. He and Caroline were about to discover just how right they were.
During World War II, Guernsey was transformed into a formidable fortress under the direct orders of Adolf Hitler. The Channel Islands were intended to be impenetrable, and concrete bunkers rose across the landscape. Most were sealed after liberation, but many remained, silent witnesses to a turbulent past.
Growing up on Guernsey, Shaun was familiar with the bunkers scattered across the island. Islanders, eager to reclaim their home after the war, systematically filled many of them. They survived in fields and gardens, but rarely directly beneath someone’s living room.
The first clue arrived unexpectedly, through a Facebook Marketplace listing. Shaun was selling his handmade chopping boards when a former resident of the house spotted the photos. Recognizing the kitchen, she sent a message that would irrevocably alter their renovation project: “Oh, did you find the rooms below your house?”
That simple question confirmed years of quiet suspicion. Shaun’s reply, “Oh, so there *are* rooms!” was met with a nostalgic revelation: “Yes, we used to play in there when we were kids. My dad filled it in – I know they’re at the front of the house.” Suddenly, their front garden held a new, unsettling significance.
The timing was far from ideal. They had just finished resurfacing their driveway, the gravel freshly laid and tools neatly put away. Shaun had to tell Caroline that everything would need to be dug up again, barely a week after completion. Ignoring the bunker wasn’t an option.
A friend’s enthusiastic offer propelled the project forward. “If you get the digger, I’ll dig it up!” he declared. This led to the removal of over 100 tonnes of earth, and finally, the emergence of the bunker entrance.
The bunker was far larger than anyone imagined. Two main rooms, measuring 17ft by 10ft and 17ft by 20ft, were connected by a narrow, 30ft hallway. Twenty-six feet below ground level, it was a remarkably preserved time capsule, hidden beneath their home.
Inside, they found remnants of the past: old bottles, rubble, pooled water, tiled flooring, and an escape hatch. But it was the German writing on the walls that truly resonated. One chilling phrase read, ‘achtung feind hort mit’ – “beware, the enemy is listening.”
Shaun described the discovery as “completely wild,” an experience beyond words. “It is history, and it’s good to have, but I couldn’t have imagined going through that – it really puts you back, especially when you go down.”
The bunker is far from inviting. “It’s cold and damp,” Shaun admitted. “The people who built it didn’t have a choice.” He sees it not as just rooms, but as a tangible piece of history. Caroline, however, is less enthralled, eager to finish the house, not excavate its past.
Stabilizing the bunker became a monumental task. Eighty tonnes of concrete were poured into the walls and steps to ensure safety. Now, they’re transforming it into a games room, complete with a snooker table and gym, a unique blend of modern comfort and wartime history.
The German writing will remain untouched. “We are definitely keeping the writing – and might get someone to restore it, otherwise it gets lost,” Shaun explained. “Even the air is fading it.” Preserving this piece of the past is paramount, even if it adds complexity to the project.
The bunker serves as a stark reminder of the Channel Islands’ darker history. During the occupation, hundreds of islanders were deported, and those who remained faced near-starvation. Liberation finally arrived in May 1945, a day now commemorated annually across the islands.
