It is marked on the Ordnance Survey six-inch maps, which gives it a kind of cartographic solidity, but the ground itself offers nothing. No stone, no outline, no earthwork catches the eye. The site is subject to seasonal flooding, and whatever the land has not swallowed, time has. What makes this place quietly strange is precisely that absence: a building recorded, measured, and named, yet entirely gone.

When the Ordnance Survey Letters were compiled in the nineteenth century, a small portion of wall was still standing, and from the foundation traces visible at that time, the structure was estimated to have measured roughly 15 yards by 8 yards, or about 13.7 metres by 7.3 metres. That is not large. The compilers of those letters, published later by O'Flanagan in 1927, suspected it was not an independent nunnery at all, but more likely a small chapel associated with the Franciscan friary at Caltra, the probable site of which lies about 1.25 kilometres to the south-west in the village itself. The friary connection would explain the modest scale. A dependent chapel rather than a full religious house, serving a community whose main establishment lay a short walk away. Also associated with this site are a cashel-bank-and-grotto feature and an enclosure, suggesting the area carried some organised activity beyond a single isolated building, though the details of those features remain similarly elusive at ground level.

Today there is nothing to see in the conventional sense, and the field gives little away. The site sits on the map as a designation rather than a monument, a placeholder for something that has not survived its own landscape.