No walls, no doorway, no scatter of dressed stone; only a series of low, grass-covered mounds that hint at something underneath. It is the kind of site that requires a certain imaginative effort, the willingness to read a landscape rather than simply look at it.

When Bowman recorded the site in 1934, he noted that nothing then remained of the church except those same mounds, suggesting the building had already been reduced to its present near-invisible state well before the mid-twentieth century. The church sat within a burial ground, a common arrangement in rural Ireland where the two functions, worship and interment, occupied the same enclosure across many centuries. What the church looked like, when it was built, or by whom, the surviving record does not say. What it does confirm is that by the time anyone thought to write it down, the structure had already been swallowed by the earth.