The steps are gone now, or at least invisible, swallowed by vegetation and time. The hollow itself remains, an overgrown oval depression roughly four metres across on its east-west axis, and if you did not know what you were looking at, you might walk past it without a second thought.

This is Toberglas, the local name for the well, a corruption of the Irish that likely refers to a green or grey-green spring. Holy wells and natural springs of this kind were once a common feature of the Irish countryside, often marked by a boundary of stones and sometimes fitted with steps to allow people to descend to the water for drinking, bathing, or ritual purposes. At Toberglas, local memory preserves the detail of those fourteen steps and the delimiting line of stones, even though neither is any longer visible on the surface. The well was dry when it was formally recorded, which complicates any reading of what it once was: a practical water source, a site of devotion, or both, as was so often the case with Irish holy wells, which rarely belonged to just one category of use.

What remains is essentially an absence, a depression in a field that holds its history in the accounts of people who remembered it differently. The name Toberglas survives in local usage, and with it the outline of a place that mattered enough for someone to cut steps into the earth leading down to the water.