No plaque marks it, no ruin survives, and the map reference that once recorded its outline has long been absorbed into the surrounding streetscape. What stood here was the College of the Vicars Choral, a residential institution attached to the cathedral and purpose-built for the men whose job it was to sing the cathedral's daily liturgical services. Vicars choral were lay singers or minor clergy who performed the choral duties of the cathedral canons, and in larger medieval ecclesiastical establishments they were housed together in a collegiate setting to keep them close at hand and to regulate their communal life.

A record from 1546 gives the only meaningful picture of what the college actually comprised: a hall, a kitchen, and bed chambers. This is noted by Mason, writing in 1819, and suggests a modest but functional domestic arrangement typical of such institutions. The building was apparently still standing in some form in the early nineteenth century, though already ruinous by that point, before disappearing entirely from the visible record. Bradley and King, writing in 1987, place it in the broader cartographic history of the area, and an earlier map reference from 1978 corroborates its general location south of the cathedral. Beyond these two data points, very little survives in the documentary record to flesh out the college's day-to-day character or the circumstances of its dissolution.

There is nothing to see here in any conventional sense, and that is precisely what makes the site worth knowing about. The area south of St Patrick's Cathedral is walkable and familiar to anyone who has spent time around the Liberties, and the absence of any surface trace does not diminish the interest of standing in roughly the right place and considering what has been swallowed up. If you are already visiting the cathedral, the general zone is a short walk away. No access difficulties present themselves, given that the site is effectively open ground or built over, but anyone with a serious interest in the medieval topography of the area would do well to read Mason's 1820 history alongside the later work of Bradley and King, which situates this vanished structure within a broader pattern of ecclesiastical Dublin that has largely been erased by time and development.