No walls rise from the ground, no outline is visible in the grass, and were it not for a handful of maps and a thread of local memory, it might have disappeared entirely from the record. What survives is essentially a name, a tradition, and the faint echo of a boundary.

By 1933, when Ordnance Survey field workers came through, there was already very little to see. They recorded a small enclosure on a south-facing slope, roughly 28 feet long and 13 feet wide, just a foot high and two feet wide, composed of stones and earth. It did not appear on the OS six-inch maps of 1842 or 1904, but by 1936 the mapmakers had caught up with local knowledge and marked it simply as "church (site of)". A researcher named Bowman, writing in 1934, called it An Teampall, the Irish word for church, and noted it as a church site. Since then, even that low earthen enclosure has gone. The slope is rough grazing now, with no visible surface trace remaining. What makes the silence around the site more suggestive, rather than less, is its immediate neighbourhood. In the same field, a short distance to the west, lies a feature recorded as a hospital, the term here likely referring to a medieval hospice or house of religious care rather than a modern medical institution. In the field directly to the east there is a possible burial site and a stone row, one of those alignments of upright stones whose purpose remains genuinely uncertain. About 110 metres further east lies a burial ground. Taken together, the cluster points to a locality that accumulated significance across different periods, though quite when or how the church itself was established, used, or abandoned, the record does not say.