That act of erasure, calculated and presumably purposeful, is what makes the slab so quietly unsettling. The stone measures 2.35 metres long and nearly 90 centimetres wide, substantial enough to dominate the wall it occupies, and its surface is carved with a seven-armed segmental floriated cross in false relief, a technique in which the background is cut away to make the design appear raised without actually being so. At the base of the cross-head sits a three-bar knop, a decorative terminal feature, and the shaft descends to a stepped Calvary mount, the tiered base traditionally representing the hill of Golgotha.

The church in which it now rests is a 19th-century structure built directly onto the former chancel of the medieval church of St Mary's, itself dating to the 13th century. The slab carries two distinct layers of text. The earlier inscription, running along the base and the right-hand margin of the stone and continuing in two lines across the face below the knop, bears the date 1686. Whoever added the second inscription, or someone acting after them, appears to have gone back and deliberately rendered that first text illegible. The local historian William Carrigan, writing in 1905, was unable to read it at all. Just below, in English capitals, a second inscription was cut sometime later, dated 1696 and legible enough for Carrigan to transcribe in full: 'CHARLES AGAR BURGES DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 14TH DAY OF FEBRUARY 1696'. The gap of ten years between the two dates, combined with the apparent defacement of the first, raises questions that the stone itself cannot answer. Whether the two inscriptions refer to the same family, the same dispute, or entirely separate commemorations is not clear from what survives.