The graveyard itself contains no headstones older than the nineteenth century, which means the stonework of the font, with its five-sided recess and a circular bowl cut to roughly thirty centimetres across, is among the oldest visible objects on the entire site. It sits there quietly, easy to walk past, carrying no label or explanation.

The site is traditionally understood to be the location of an early ecclesiastical foundation, meaning it likely began as one of those small monastic or devotional settlements that spread across Ireland during the early medieval period, long before the present church was built. A baptismal font, used for the ritual blessing and pouring of water in Christian ceremony, would have been a central object in any such community. That this fragment survived while the headstones did not, and while whatever earlier structure stood here was replaced entirely, gives it a peculiar weight. Recorded in the Irish Tourist Association files of 1942, the font fragment was already being noted as a remnant worth attention, a piece of carved granite that had outlasted the building it once belonged to.

The surrounding terrain rolls gently, and the churchyard sits within it without any great drama of landscape. What rewards a careful look is precisely that contrast: a working nineteenth-century parish setting, tidy and familiar, and at its threshold a piece of stone whose origins belong to an entirely different chapter of the same place.