This roughly D-shaped cemetery, measuring 34 metres northeast to southwest and 12 metres northwest to southeast, wasn’t even marked on the 1836 Ordnance Survey map. By 1907, cartographers had noted it as a rectilinear enclosure with an altar marked in its northern half, though they still didn’t identify it as a graveyard. The space sits within a complex arrangement of boundaries; it occupies the western third of an oblong enclosure, which itself nestles within the southern half of a larger oval ecclesiastical site.

The graveyard’s interior slopes down towards the northwest, its uneven, grass-covered surface dotted with at least 34 low, uninscribed upright stones that concentrate in a broad band running east to west across its centre. Against rock outcropping at the northern end stands a roughly built altar, beside which visitors once collected soil reputed to rid houses of rats. Three penitential cairns mark the space; one sits immediately east of the altar, whilst two others occupy the southern half of the graveyard. The southwestern quadrant contains a curious subrectangular depression bounded by stone, measuring 1.3 by 1.9 metres and about 0.3 metres deep, though its original purpose remains unclear.

Local tradition holds that this was a community graveyard until the 19th century, with occasional burials continuing into the early 1900s. Perhaps most poignantly, it served as a burial ground for unbaptised babies until the mid-20th century, a practice that speaks to the complex intersection of religious doctrine and human compassion in rural Irish communities. A cross-inscribed stone once stood here but has since been removed, leaving behind only the silent testimony of simple stone markers and the memories held in local lore.