I was jolted awake by the sound of a tractor uprooting Jersey Royals in the nearby potato field. In my modest hexagonal room, dawn spilled in through the military coordinates and five high slit windows, complete with compasses etched into the ceiling. Yet, as I glanced around, I couldn’t help but feel transported back to a 19th-century lounge that featured Gothic windows providing views in three directions.
During World War II, the occupying forces of Jersey put their stamp on Nicole Tower with some strange two-story additions. In this very room, German soldiers searched for an invasion that never materialized.
Thanks to the Landmark Trust Restoration Charity, I now enjoy the hilltop tower, nestled inland from Le Hocq Beach. It’s remarkable, a part of the 1,200 fortifications scattered across Jersey, and it played a role in Hitler’s Atlantic wall defense. I remember my childhood holidays in the 1980s, when abandoned bunkers beckoned with the thrill of exploration. Now, I’ve arrived for the 80th anniversary of liberation, which falls on May 9, 1945. I’m eager to see how some of these structures have adapted to new life.
I’ve entered an underground hospital, where they didn’t tend to battle victims but where farmers later grew mushrooms in the labyrinthine passages. It’s now home to Jersey War Tunnels, a museum chronicling the island’s nearly five years under occupation.
I’ll learn about the frantic evacuation efforts, how residents exchanged meager rations through personal ads, and the immense Nazi construction project that erected hundreds of fortifications. The marks of hand tools linger in the tunnels, and one area features lighting that simulates rock falls. There are also interactive exhibits telling the islanders’ personal stories, delving into ethical dilemmas they faced, like whether to launder German uniforms for food.
That evening, I’ll join a nonprofit Jersey War Tour at a resistance nest perched along the sea wall of St. Ouen’s Bay. Our guide, Phil Mallett, will show us where anti-tank guns were cleaned on abandoned beaches, illustrating how soldiers prepared for scenarios like D-Day.
Inland, in Le Coin Varin, the fields are dotted with massive block-shaped combat headquarters disguised as homes, with chimneys cleverly masking the rifts. Vines weave their way through time here, but inside, modern firefighting rooms obscure the historical walls. Nearby, Mallet points out a curious bungalow constructed around another abandoned bunker.
The waves crash beneath the wild headland at our last stop, Neuermont Point. Here, a crack of light draws us to the Roslingen battery, where I’ll witness the somber sight of an elderly German man returning as a tourist in a restored command bunker.
Compared to the austere surroundings of Nicole Tower, this cozy hexagonal lounge feels like a whimsical trinket box. Its bookshelf holds thoughtful topics relating to Jersey’s nature and history, but it also holds logbooks filled with visitors’ entries, offering a blend of diary musings and a crowdsourced guidebook—always a source of fascination.
At the Seaview Writing Desk, I flip through pages and smile at a guest’s story of a memorable birthday and a marriage proposal, even a naked yoga session interrupted by an unexpected dog walker. Others leave recommendations for walks and pubs, and some contribute lovely watercolor paintings.
The next day, I plan to visit Faulkner Fisheries, a former bunker-turned-fishmonger and café located on a rocky peninsula north of St. Ouen Bay, the island’s largest sandy beach. Lobsters are prepared for a lunchtime BBQ, washed through pipes that once served as wartime ventilation shafts. “In the last tank, where the crabs are, the gun was pointed at Guernsey,” the owner, Sean Faulkner, says, pointing out that the office was once a machine gun post.
Faulkner grew up nearby, playing in the bunkers and diving for crabs to sell from makeshift prams. After a stint in the Merchant Navy, he turned his childhood adventures into a business. Enjoying giant garlic scallops on a picnic table, I watch the waves sparkle in the sunlight—the plump seafood and BBQ aroma invoking memories of Australia.
Later, at the cobblestone slipway, I spot a small bunker residential board and a wetsuit, alongside the original heavy metal doors of Jersey Surf School. Owner Jake Powell casually mentions that water ingress isn’t a problem, which reminds me of the teenage party around the bar he built in another bunker.
The dramatic tide range reveals expansive rock pools near La Corbière Lighthouse, where I linger for the stunning sunset views. The sentinel across the way is the Radio Tower, a German surveying post that has evolved into a holiday accommodation over the years.
Jersey Heritage oversees various fortifications, including the German-adapted Martello Tower and those repurposed from the Cold War. Chief Executive John Carter notes the tourists’ keen interest: “All of them were built in the most scenic places with the best views,” he shares over tea.
The thick concrete of these bunkers makes significant damage practically impossible. The mingling of neglect, historical restoration, and practical reuse I’ve observed reflects decades of changing attitudes. Carter points out that there’s often more focus on how these structures were built than on why, as many were constructed by prisoners and forced labor.
At the government’s request, Jersey Heritage collaborates with volunteer conservationists from the Channel Islands Occupation Association to consider the reuse of 70 state-owned fortresses along the Atlantic walls, grappling with similar questions regarding their future. Carter anticipates a blend of “selective preservation” and “contemporary use.”
Next, I’ll visit the island’s newest fortress museum, St. Catherine’s Bunker, which Mallet calls “the hideout of a real Bond villain.” This cliff face gun post is characterized by a tunnel built by Germans in the foreground, but it has functioned as a fish market for years. It’s a strikingly ironic juxtaposition, reminiscent of the bunkers I discovered while playing on the beach as a child.
Ten minutes later, I’ll have lunch at Driftwood Cafe on Archirondel Beach. As I bite into a thick crab sandwich, Gabby Mason, the fisherman and cafe owner, tells me her boat is decked out with flags for Liberation 80. From today until next week, there are street parties and music festivals to celebrate, along with historical reenactments, like the British soldiers raising Union Jacks above Liberation Square in St. Helier.
We’re also celebrating the Landmark Trust’s 60 years of restoration work. Before I leave Nicole Tower, I plan to soak in those breathtaking views and add my own piece to the logbook, marking my connection to this building and Jersey’s rich, layered history.
