It was reserved entirely for unbaptised infants, a practice that speaks to a long and quietly sorrowful tradition in rural Catholic Ireland. Places of this kind are known as cillíní, informal burial grounds used for those who, under Catholic doctrine, could not be interred in consecrated ground. They tend to occupy liminal spaces, old ruins, field boundaries, or the margins of established cemeteries, and Pollboy fits that pattern precisely.

What survives today is sparse. Irregular lines of limestone blocks, poorly preserved, trace the outlines of graves oriented east to west in the manner of Christian burial. Beneath the south window of the church there is a single inscribed slab, dedicated to an infant and dated 1828. That stone is a relatively rare thing in a cillín context, where burials were usually unmarked, the grief unrecorded in any permanent form. Writing in 1960, a scholar named Egan described the church as not enclosed by a graveyard, with only unbaptised children buried there, a description that captures both the physical character of the site and the specific category of people it held.

The 1828 slab is the detail worth looking for if you visit. The graves themselves are difficult to read now, the limestone blocks having settled and shifted over the years, but the slab under the south window gives the site a human scale that the rough stones alone do not quite provide.