There is no visible surface trace of it today, which places it in that quietly strange category of scheduled monuments that are recorded precisely because they have disappeared.

A century ago, the picture was different. Writing in 1916, a researcher named Condon documented a partially fallen stone measuring six feet in length, twenty-nine inches wide, and twenty inches thick. Those are substantial dimensions, suggesting a boulder of some presence rather than a modest marker. Standing stones of this kind are among the most common prehistoric monument types in Ireland, raised during the Bronze Age for purposes that remain genuinely uncertain, whether as territorial markers, points on a ritual landscape, or burial indicators. They were set upright, sometimes alone, sometimes in loose association with other monuments. This one, already fallen by the time Condon reached it, has since vanished from view entirely, likely buried under the rough pasture of the slope, toppled fully into the earth, or removed at some point in the intervening decades.

What remains is essentially an absence, a coordinate on a map where something once stood and a measurement in a published inventory that preserves its dimensions long after the stone itself stopped being visible. That is sometimes all a monument amounts to, a record of a thing rather than the thing itself.