It is neither. That low earthen mound, standing roughly 1.1 metres above the surrounding graveyard floor and shaded by a cluster of sycamores, is likely the surviving remnant of an early ecclesiastical enclosure, the kind of roughly oval boundary that once defined and protected an early Irish monastic or church site, often marking sacred space as much as physical territory.

The evidence for what lies beneath the sycamores was pieced together from the Ordnance Survey six-inch map of 1936, as noted by archaeologist Geraldine Stout. That map shows a roughly oval enclosure wrapping around the present church, measuring approximately 55 metres in length and 46 metres in width. The raised ground in the northern sector of the graveyard preserves part of this earlier boundary, though its outline has been interrupted by the insertion of the Domville family tomb, whose placement cuts directly through the line of the enclosure. The Domvilles were a prominent local family, and their tomb is a substantial presence in the graveyard. Despite this disruption, the enclosure's trajectory can still be traced: the graveyard wall along the eastern side, dated to 1712, appears to follow the original line, and this alignment continues around to the southwest.

Santry church sits just off the old Swords Road, and the graveyard is accessible on foot. The raised platform in the northern section is most legible when the light is low and raking, typically on a clear morning or in the later afternoon of autumn or winter, when shadows pick out the change in ground level more clearly. Look for the sycamores clustered together above the higher ground, and note how the graveyard wall to the east seems to trace a gentle curve rather than a strictly utilitarian straight line. The Domville tomb, prominent and relatively easy to spot, marks the point where two layers of history collide rather awkwardly, the ambitions of an eighteenth-century family cutting across something considerably older.