By 1905, it had vanished from the Ordnance Survey maps entirely, swallowed back into the agricultural landscape within a few decades of first being documented. No headstones break the surface, no boundary wall marks its edge. The ground gives nothing away.

The 1842 six-inch Ordnance Survey map shows it clearly enough: a D-shaped enclosure roughly 48 metres along its south-west to north-east axis and about 20 metres across, its curved south-eastern edge defined by a broken line, its north-western side following a slightly angled field boundary. At its centre, the map indicates the remains of a church. The site was known locally as Cill Ruadh, a name suggesting a dedication to a red-haired or ruddy saint, "cill" being the Irish word for a small early church or its associated burial ground. Writing in 1932, a researcher named Power described it as an untilled patch of roughly a quarter of an acre, part of which had by then been worked as a sandpit. That detail alone, the graveyard being quarried for sand, goes some way towards explaining why so little of it survived. Approximately 130 metres to the south-west, a holy well was recorded, the kind of proximity that often points to an early ecclesiastical site, where church, burial ground, and sacred water source clustered together in a pattern common across early Christian Ireland.

There is nothing for a visitor to see today in any conventional sense. The site sits in tillage land, its outline detectable only by comparing the 1842 map against the present field pattern. Its interest lies precisely in that absence, in how completely a place of the dead can be absorbed into the working landscape, leaving only a local name and a note in a 1932 publication as evidence that it was ever there at all.