The church itself is long gone, and the enclosure has been further reduced on its southern side where farm outhouses went up around 1970. During that construction work, bones were reportedly uncovered, a reminder that the ground here served for centuries as a place of burial as much as worship.

The scholar John O'Donovan, travelling through County Wexford around 1840 as part of the Ordnance Survey's place-name research, noted it as a destroyed church and graveyard. Both the 1839 and 1923 editions of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map mark the site, suggesting that even as the physical fabric disappeared, cartographers continued to register its presence as a place that had mattered. The enclosure sits towards the bottom of a south-east-facing slope on a north-east to south-west ridge, the kind of sheltered, slightly elevated position that early Irish ecclesiastical sites often favoured. Around 140 metres to the south-east lies Tobermurry Well, a lintelled rectangular well fitted with a modern granite cross just under 60 centimetres tall. Holy wells in Ireland frequently maintained their significance long after associated churches fell away, serving as focal points for local devotion that outlasted institutional religion by generations, and the proximity of this one to the enclosure follows a familiar pattern.

The site is not signposted or presented in any formal way, and much of what defined it is now visible only as a subtle earthwork in pasture. The outer bank survives as little more than a trace, rising perhaps 20 centimetres above the surrounding ground. For anyone with an eye for early ecclesiastical enclosures, that modest topography, combined with the nearby well, tells a quieter but legible story about the landscape's older uses.