At Turtulla, in the flat floodplain of the River Suir in County Tipperary, what was once a medieval parish church has subsided into the surrounding farmland so gradually that its walls are now little more than grassed-over mounds of collapsed limestone rubble. Only a short section of the south wall still stands to any height, roughly 1.7 metres, and the line of the west gable has become almost impossible to trace beneath loose stone. The River Suir runs about fifty metres to the north.

The church was already old when it appeared in the taxation of the Diocese of Cashel in 1302, recorded there as the Rectory of Fertene, a name that preserves an earlier identity for the place entirely distinct from the Turtulla townland it sits in today. At that point it was a functioning ecclesiastical unit within the medieval diocese, assessed for revenue purposes alongside other parishes across Tipperary and the wider Munster church. The building itself, aligned east to west in the conventional manner, measured somewhere between 16.5 and 18.4 metres internally and was 4.5 metres wide, making it a modest but not negligible structure. When Ordnance Survey officers visited around 1840, enough of the fabric survived to record dimensions of approximately 16.8 by 4.8 metres. The collapse has continued since. North of the church, a roughly square enclosure, about 24 by 25 metres, defined by a collapsed rubble wall, marks what appears to be the graveyard, with a probable entrance gap of around 2.2 metres at the north end of the west wall. That neither the 1843 map nor the mid-twentieth-century revision shows this burial ground suggests it had already been forgotten by the time cartographers came to draw the area in detail.

The site sits among old field boundaries that survive to the north, south-west, and south, which gives the ruin a quietly layered quality; the church is not isolated so much as absorbed into a longer pattern of land use. Anyone approaching should expect little in the way of standing architecture, but the spread of the collapsed masonry, once your eye adjusts, begins to sketch out the footprint of a building that served a community for several centuries before the land quietly closed over it.