This monument, which first appeared on Ordnance Survey maps between 1847 and 1849, stretches roughly 20 metres from east to west and rises to about a metre in height. Near its eastern end, a large prostrate slab measuring 1.7 by 1.4 metres rests atop the pile, surrounded by scattered stones and the crumbling remains of old field walls that crisscross the site.

When antiquarian Thomas Fagan visited between 1845 and 1848, he documented a far more intriguing picture of what once stood here. According to his account, this mound of stones formed the base of a much larger cairn that had covered what he described as ‘sundry vaults or graves’, chambers formed by large flat stones pitched on end and edge in the ground. By the time of his visit, however, these supposed burial chambers were already so damaged that he couldn’t determine their original size or configuration; a decade of agricultural reclamation had taken its toll on this and many other ancient features in the area.

While the exact nature of what lies beneath remains tantalisingly unclear, Fagan’s observations suggest this was once a megalithic tomb of some kind, possibly containing multiple burial chambers. The current elongated shape of the stone pile hints it may have been a long cairn, a type of Neolithic monument that typically covered stone chambers or passages. Though time and human activity have obscured much of its original form, this overgrown mound continues to mark a place where our prehistoric ancestors once gathered to honour their dead, leaving behind these enduring, if enigmatic, stones.