The church that once stood here has left no stonework, no arch, no trace of a wall; only a rectangular earthen platform, roughly twenty metres by fifteen, hints that something once occupied this damp and sheltered ground. That a building existed at all is known mostly through tradition, the kind of place-memory that persists in a community long after the physical evidence has dissolved back into the landscape.

What makes Ballinabanoge stranger than the ordinary ruined church is what the surrounding graveyard appears to have been used for. Local tradition holds that shipwrecked sailors were buried here, which already sets the site apart from the usual parish ground. More telling still, the Ordnance Survey letters compiled by O'Flanagan in 1928 record it as a children's burial ground. This detail points toward something specific in Irish religious practice: a cillín, an unconsecrated plot used for the interment of unbaptised infants, who under older Catholic teaching could not be buried in consecrated ground. The sailors fit a similar logic, since victims of drowning were sometimes treated with the same ambiguity, their deaths by water complicating their standing in the eyes of the Church. The graveyard may, alternatively, have served the community in the ordinary way and then slipped into this more marginal use after the church itself fell out of service. Either way, by the time anyone was writing it down, it had become a place for those who fell outside the usual rites. To the north of the site lies St Iver's holy well, a reminder that this corner of Wicklow was once threaded through with the older, quieter geography of local saints and sacred water.