What makes this one quietly arresting is not the water itself but what stands beside it: a small rectangular slab with a round head, less than a metre tall and not much more than a third of a metre wide, carved with a crucifixion scene and bearing the date 1762.

The slab belongs to a tradition of modest devotional stonework that accompanied holy wells across the country, providing a focal point for prayer and pattern days, the local pilgrimages that were once a fixture of the Irish religious calendar. A round-headed slab of this kind would have functioned as a grave-marker type monument repurposed or commissioned specifically for the well, a permanent witness to the site's sacred character. The date 1762 places it firmly in the eighteenth century, a period when such vernacular religious objects were being produced across Connacht even as Penal-era restrictions on Catholic practice were still formally in place, though unevenly enforced. The crucifixion scene, however worn or spare, would have given those visiting the well something concrete to address, combining the older sanctity of the spring with the imagery of Catholic devotion.

The setting itself is part of the story. Marshy ground close to a townland boundary is precisely the kind of liminal terrain where sacred sites were often established or survived, at the edge of defined territories and away from easy interference. Visitors prepared for soft ground and a modest, unspectacular site will find a small carved slab that has been quietly keeping its place in the marsh for more than two and a half centuries.