It was not toppled by time or weather but removed deliberately during fence clearance work, then interred in the same spot, an oddly conscientious act of erasure that left the stone physically present but entirely invisible.

The stone's recorded history is brief but telling. It does not appear on the Ordnance Survey six-inch maps of either 1842 or 1904, which suggests it was either overlooked by surveyors or already in a degraded state by the time those surveys were carried out. The earliest surviving record of it comes from a 1934 publication by Bowman, who noted a broken stone in the townland; the remaining portion measured one foot eight inches high with a girth of six feet ten inches, indicating that even then it was a fragment of something considerably larger. By the time of more recent fieldwork, the stone had been removed from its south-facing pasture slope and buried, leaving no surface trace. Standing stones of this kind are generally considered to date from the Bronze Age, erected as markers, boundary indicators, or sites of ritual significance, though their precise purpose in any individual case is rarely recoverable.

There is nothing for a visitor to see here now. The stone's location is a working agricultural field, the monument itself underground, and the south-facing slope it once occupied gives no outward sign of what lies beneath. Its interest lies less in what can be observed than in what the sequence of events reveals: a prehistoric monument that escaped Victorian cartography, survived into the twentieth century as a broken remnant, and was finally swallowed by the land that had held it for millennia.