It is the kind of architectural economy that suggests the whole ensemble was planned as a single, self-contained thing rather than accumulated over centuries. The entrance is a round-headed arch in the eastern wall, flanked by engaged pillars, giving the enclosure an air of deliberate formality that speaks more to estate design than to parish use or medieval devotion.

The church itself is built of roughly coursed limestone rubble, and despite being marked as a ruin on the first edition Ordnance Survey six-inch map of 1843, there is no accompanying entry in the OS Letters, the field memoranda in which surveyors typically recorded local knowledge and folklore. That silence is itself telling. The site appears to be an estate church, purpose-built to serve the household and workers of Brittas Demesne, with no detectable evidence of medieval origin beneath it. The headstones reinforce this reading. The earliest bears the date 1782 and commemorates James Sweeney, described as a worker on the estate, a relatively rare instance of a labourer receiving a named, dated stone. The remaining monuments are predominantly nineteenth-century and belong almost entirely to two families, the Knoxes and the Langleys, almost certainly connected to the demesne's ownership and management. Scattered among the carved stones are a number of crude grave markers, unlettered and roughly shaped, most likely indicating burials of those without the means or standing for formal commemoration.