The simple rectangular structure, measuring roughly 11.7 by 4.25 metres internally, has been built from split-stone rubble and boulders, with only three of its walls still standing against the coastal elements. The eastern gable remains the most intact, reaching nearly its original height and featuring a narrow window with widely splayed openings, though its jambs and sill have long since fallen away. The southern wall contains remnants of another window and, intriguingly, a wall-press set lengthways into the stonework beneath it; a practical feature that would have served as storage in this remote place of worship.

Local tradition connects this site with St. Morialagh of Clonca, though the surviving architecture suggests medieval construction rather than early Christian origins. Among the fallen masonry at the eastern end, you can still trace the footings of what was once the altar, whilst patches of plaster cling to the interior walls and fragments of external rendering hint at the building’s former finish. A particularly curious discovery was made here: a rectangular stone block bearing a crudely carved human face, its eyes, nose and mouth represented by deep grooves. This enigmatic carving, which once formed part of the corner between the south wall and east gable, now resides in the National Museum of Ireland.

The church doesn’t stand alone in this dramatic coastal setting. Just southwest of the ruins, the ‘Wee House of Malin’ opens into the rock face; a sea cave measuring 2.75 metres deep and 2.25 metres high, its entrance partially blocked with stones that local lore claims were taken from the church itself. Further east along the shoreline, a holy well continues to mark this stretch of coast as a place of spiritual significance, creating a sacred landscape that has endured despite centuries of Atlantic storms and the inevitable decay of its stone monuments.