In July 1982, human remains came to light in the corner of a large field on the property, scattered through disturbed soil where a low mound had recently been levelled. The mound itself was modest, measuring roughly three metres north to south and only half a metre in height, the kind of subtle rise in the land that might easily be mistaken for a natural undulation.

The remains belonged to four or five individuals. They had been laid out in an east-west orientation, a burial alignment commonly associated with Christian practice, where the body faces east towards the rising sun and, by theological extension, towards the resurrection. Yet no grave goods were found alongside them, offering no obvious clues about date or identity, and there was no local tradition of a church or graveyard anywhere in the immediate area. That absence of folk memory is itself notable. Communities tend to retain some recollection of consecrated ground, however vague, passed down through generations as a caution or a curiosity. Here, nothing of the sort existed. Whatever this place once was, it had been thoroughly forgotten long before the ground was broken.