Though the rectangular bawn walls that once enclosed this defensive compound have long since vanished beneath the improved pasture, archaeological surveys from 1940 documented their impressive footprint; roughly 50 metres long and 25 metres wide. Within these protective walls once stood a building, now reduced to foundation stones hidden beneath the grass.

The sole surviving structure is a remarkable gateway at the southwest corner, standing as a solitary witness to centuries gone by. This round-arched entrance, built from carefully dressed stone, measures 2.57 metres wide and rises to 3.46 metres in height. Its ashlar jambs still bear the sockets where heavy doors once swung on iron hinges, secured with massive bolts. Above, a flat internal arch conceals what appears to be a murder hole; a small opening measuring 30 by 20 centimetres through which defenders could rain down projectiles on unwelcome visitors. Remarkably, the original wicker centring used during construction remains visible on the underside of this defensive feature.

Time and the elements have taken their toll on this lonely sentinel. The gateway now leans uphill at a precarious 10-degree angle, pulling away from the vertical like a tired guardian finally allowed to rest. A tiny fragment of the western bawn wall, barely 73 centimetres in length, extends northward from the gateway; all that remains of the once-formidable perimeter that protected whoever called this place home during Ireland’s age of castles and conflict.