The one at Levallyroe in County Mayo is so reduced, so quietly absorbed into the surrounding pasture, that its identity as a monument at all remains genuinely uncertain. What survives is a sod-covered bank barely a quarter of a metre high at its tallest, measuring around 8.7 metres in diameter at its midpoint. The eastern arc has been almost entirely levelled, and a ring of field clearance stones, the kind of casual tidying that farmers have always done, has been piled onto the bank and around the inner edge, further obscuring whatever original form once existed.

The uncertainty runs deeper than surface erosion. There may be a fosse, a shallow ditch running along the inner edge of the bank, which would be consistent with a ring barrow as a monument type. If that inner ditch does exist, the enclosed central area would have been roughly four metres across, a small but plausible space for the kind of ritual or burial deposit the form was built to contain. The field stones dumped there over generations make it impossible to say with confidence. To the south the land dips away to a flat, wettish expanse cut by a drain or stream; to the north the ground rises. About a hundred metres to the west sits Bunadober well, a named holy well whose proximity to a possible prehistoric monument is the sort of coincidence that is, in the Irish landscape, rarely entirely a coincidence. Just to the east, a football pitch occupies the same modest rise in the ground.

What makes this place quietly arresting is precisely its ambiguity. It sits in ordinary pasture, flanked by the thoroughly modern and the possibly ancient, reduced to the point where even its function cannot be stated with certainty. The field clearance stones that obscure it are themselves a kind of record, a long history of people working around something they could not quite explain and could not quite ignore.