First documented in 1907, the castle was already in ruins by then, with only a single square tower standing as the principal remnant of what was once a considerable structure. The castle’s builders chose their location with domestic life in mind; sheltered by hills on three sides and positioned beside a gentle rivulet, the site offered protection from the elements rather than from enemies. By the early 20th century, someone had even attached a modern dwelling house to the ancient tower, continuing the site’s residential tradition.

The 1907 description paints a picture of a once substantial fortification that had largely disappeared into the landscape. Beyond the surviving tower, the castle’s defensive features; its walls, earthen mounds, and what appear to have been bawn enclosures; had been levelled, leaving only subtle traces in the earth. The surrounding fosse, or defensive ditch, had transformed into stagnant fishponds, suggesting the site’s military purpose had long since given way to more peaceful uses. These earthworks, now completely invisible on the surface, likely formed part of a bawn, the fortified enclosure typical of Irish castles that provided protection for livestock and residents alike.

Despite being described as a structure of considerable antiquity, Milltown Castle keeps its secrets well. No records survive to tell us who built it, when it was constructed, or what dramas unfolded within its walls. The alternative name Ballyvuilling offers a tantalising hint at older connections to the landscape, but like so much else about this site, its significance remains lost to time. What we’re left with is an archaeological puzzle; a castle that prioritised comfort over defence in a landscape that has slowly reclaimed most of its stones and stories.