Though only fragments remain of the original castle, historical records paint a vivid picture of its turbulent past. The Civil Survey of the 1650s noted it as already being ‘out of repaire’, but it had seen plenty of action before reaching that state; during the 1640s Confederate Wars, the castle endured a gruelling year-long siege by Confederate forces, as documented in the Tipperary Depositions. Today, visitors searching for the castle itself might be puzzled, as no obvious medieval fortification stands on the site. Instead, a raised area northeast of the later buildings, shown on mid-20th century Ordnance Survey maps, might mark where the castle once stood, possibly repurposed as a garden feature in later centuries.

What does survive is Beakstown House, a two-storey, four-bay shell dating from the nineteenth century. The building sits on a slight rise in the gently rolling countryside, its largely intact roof still defying the elements despite its ruined state. The southern bay projects outward, giving the structure an asymmetrical character typical of houses that evolved over time rather than following a single architectural plan. Local tradition holds that this building served as a workhouse, though no memory of the earlier castle survives in the community’s oral history.

One tantalising clue to the castle’s fate can be found at what the first edition Ordnance Survey maps called the ‘Old Corn Mill’. Built into its doorway is a chamfered jamb, a piece of worked stone that may well have been salvaged from the demolished castle. This kind of architectural recycling was common practice; as old fortifications became redundant, their dressed stones often found new life in more practical buildings. It’s a fitting metaphor for Beakstown itself, where each generation built upon, adapted, or swept away what came before, leaving behind these enigmatic traces for modern visitors to puzzle over.