One carries a chamfer and a rebate, the other is curved and pointed, and together they are the surviving fragments of a medieval doorway, an arch that once led somewhere now entirely gone. The graveyard itself, a rectangular earthen-banked enclosure on the south-east-facing slope of a broad hill at Ballyclemock, appears on Ordnance Survey maps from 1839 and again from 1925, but the story beneath it is considerably older than either edition.

At the centre of the enclosure sits a mortuary enclosure, a small roofless structure defined by masonry walls roughly 1.2 to 1.4 metres high, measuring just 6.6 metres east to west and 3.6 metres north to south. It is outside this feature, to the south-west, that the two medieval doorway stones were found. More revealing still is what aerial photography disclosed in 2006: a cropmark, the faint soil-moisture signature that betrays buried or levelled features to cameras overhead, outlining a roughly circular ecclesiastical enclosure approximately 80 metres in diameter surrounding the entire graveyard. A second cropmark, a smaller circular feature around 25 metres across, appears just to the west of the ecclesiastical enclosure. Circular ecclesiastical enclosures of this kind are closely associated with early medieval Irish church sites, typically ranging in date from the early Christian period onward, and they often survive only as these ghostly traces in the soil, invisible at ground level but legible from the air.

What this amounts to is a layered site where an early medieval religious foundation, its boundary long since flattened to a cropmark, eventually gave way to a medieval church whose dressed stonework survives only in two displaced fragments, which in turn gave way to a graveyard that continued in use into the twentieth century. The hill at Ballyclemock has been burying things, and quietly preserving them, for a very long time.