The well, measuring about a metre in diameter and partially filled in over time, sits within a drystone enclosure just north of the public road. Though it lacks the votive offerings typically found at Irish holy wells; no coins, rags or religious tokens; local tradition has long held it sacred. A second holy well can be found just 39 metres to the southwest, whilst a bullaun stone, one of those mysterious bowl-shaped depressions carved into rock that dot the Irish landscape, rests 900 metres away in the same direction.

The wells’ sanctity seems tied to the area’s monastic past, though their exact names have been lost to time. Writing in 1936, the folklorist Énrí Ó Muirgheasa noted that locals knew of two nameless holy wells here, about 40 yards apart in the townland he recorded as Kilgloey (possibly Cill Gabhlaigh). Nearby lie the old burial grounds of Cill na Manach and Roilig na Manach, their names preserving the memory of monks who once lived and prayed in this corner of Donegal. The proximity to the Murlin River, whose southern bank runs just 50 metres north of the well, would have made this an ideal spot for early Christian settlement.

Despite their anonymity, these wells maintained their reputation for healing into the twentieth century. Local people spoke of cures happening at the sites, though the specific ailments treated and rituals performed have unfortunately gone unrecorded. The wells stand as quiet reminders of Ireland’s layers of sacred geography, where pre-Christian and Christian traditions often blend seamlessly into the landscape, marked only by circles of stone and the persistence of local memory.