A plain granite cross stands at the roadside in Coghlanstown, enclosed by a simple wooden fence, looking for all the world as though it has always belonged exactly there. It probably has not. The cross, which stands 1.33 metres tall with a shaft 0.36 metres wide and short arms spanning 0.73 metres, is unadorned, with no inscriptions or carvings to explain itself, and its current location may not be its original one.

About 850 metres to the west lies Coughlanstown graveyard, and within it a detached cross base, the kind of socketed stone platform designed to receive and anchor a standing cross. The suspicion, reasonable enough given the pairing, is that the roadside cross and the graveyard base were once a single monument, separated at some point and left to make their way independently through subsequent centuries. When or why the two were parted is not recorded. Such displacements are not unusual in the Irish landscape; crosses were moved, repurposed, or simply abandoned during periods of land clearance, estate reorganisation, or casual indifference, and granite, being hard-wearing, tends to survive whatever happens to the institutional memory surrounding it.