The slabs occupy a raised area measuring roughly twelve metres north to south and fifteen and a half metres east to west, set into the north angle of an internal dividing wall. Their quiet, irregular arrangement is the physical residue of a practice that was once widespread across Ireland but rarely talked about openly.

The site is identified as a ceallúnach, a type of informal burial ground used for those who could not be interred in a church cemetery. In Irish Catholic tradition, unbaptised infants were considered to have died outside the Church and were therefore denied burial in consecrated ground. Families turned instead to liminal spaces, often old enclosures, early medieval ecclesiastical sites, or boundaries between fields, places that existed at the margins of the parish's religious geography. Killogrone fits this pattern precisely. A researcher named Brash recorded that an unbaptised child was still being buried at the site as late as 1873, which suggests the ground remained in active use well into the nineteenth century, long after such practices had become uncomfortable for Church authorities. The ceallúnach tradition persisted across Ireland in various forms until the twentieth century, and the grief encoded in these small, unadorned stones is no less real for being undocumented.

The slabs themselves are modest, nothing that would distinguish them at a glance from fieldstone, and that restraint is part of what makes the place quietly affecting. The raised ground, the angle of the wall, the sheer number of markers concentrated in a relatively small area; these details, taken together, speak to generations of families who found their own way to mark a loss that official religion would not acknowledge.