Inside it, roughly two hundred uninscribed grave-markers are arranged in at least twenty parallel rows running north-east to south-west. No names, no dates. The markers are anonymous by design, because this is a cillín, the Irish term for an unconsecrated burial ground where, for centuries, unbaptised infants were interred outside the boundaries of a Church-sanctioned cemetery. The practice reflects a long and painful chapter in Irish religious life, in which children who died before baptism were considered ineligible for consecrated ground. That this particular cillín faces out across Dingle Bay, with the Atlantic framing one whole side of it, gives the place a particular quality of exposure.

The enclosure is delineated on its western and southern sides by two drystone walls, 36 metres and 23.5 metres long respectively, built without mortar in the tradition of the Iveragh peninsula. During storms in 1989, a pair of parallel drystone walls were exposed in section on the seaward side of the site; spaced 3.2 metres apart, well-faced with a rubble core, and averaging around 0.9 metres wide, they may correspond to what an early Ordnance Survey Name Book recorded as an "old building near a grave" at this location. Whatever structure once stood here, its function is now unknown. The site carried other layers of use too. Local tradition holds that rounds, a form of devotional circumambulation once common at holy wells and sacred sites across Ireland, were formerly performed here on Good Fridays. And according to a local account from 1993, the bodies of sailors lost during both World Wars were reputedly buried within the ground, adding another unexpected stratum to a place already dense with the unrecorded. A small marble slab, marking a recent cremation burial, shows that the site has not been entirely abandoned to the past.