Some of those remnants are easy to miss: a fragment of carved stone reused as an ordinary gravemarker near the south-east corner of the ruined church, and part of a font basin built into an overground tomb, probably salvaged from the medieval building that once stood here. These are the kinds of objects that end up in plain sight precisely because nobody was sure what else to do with them.

The site takes its name from Cill Aighne, meaning the church of Aighne, an Early Christian foundation that may underlie the present large rectangular graveyard. A bullaun stone, a basin-shaped hollow carved into a rock and typically associated with early ecclesiastical sites, was once incorporated into the graveyard wall; it has since been removed to the yard of the Roman Catholic chapel in Castlegregory for safekeeping. More significantly, stone foundations visible outside the southern wall were locally identified as the remains of an ancient monastery as recently as 1946. Those foundations are now gone, cleared away when the graveyard was extended. A large stone cross still stands beside the south wall of the modern building, though it too exists somewhat at the edge of things, easy to walk past without registering what it represents.

Visitors to the site will find the medieval fabric distributed unevenly across the graveyard, absorbed into later structures or reduced to individual worked stones. The font basin built into the overground tomb and the carved fragment pressed into service as a gravemarker near the south-east corner of the church are the most tangible survivals, and worth seeking out precisely because they illustrate how archaeological material gets quietly recycled across generations, not through negligence, but through the practical logic of communities that needed building material and markers for the dead.