It is not where it started out. The bowl, which measures around 30 centimetres in diameter and carries a shallow central depression, was almost certainly a stoup, the basin of holy water placed near the entrance of a church so that worshippers could bless themselves on the way in. A hole bored into its flat base allowed it to be fixed to a supporting column, suggesting it once stood freestanding, probably just inside a doorway. Where exactly that doorway was, and when the stoup was made, remains uncertain.

The column it currently stands on dates to after 1700, which means the arrangement is a later construction rather than anything original. Around it in the glen sits a broader scatter of salvaged stone: fragments of wall tombs, loose architectural pieces, and a mass rock, the kind of flat outcrop used for clandestine Catholic worship during the Penal era, when public celebration of the Mass was prohibited. Several of the architectural fragments in this area are recorded as having come from Owney Abbey in Abington, a medieval monastic site a short distance away. The stoup may also have originated there, though researchers have been careful not to state this as fact. The record was compiled by Caimin O'Brien, with details provided by Colmán Ó Clabaigh of Glenstal Abbey, and uploaded in August 2017.

Cappercullen Glen is a quiet, secluded place, and the cluster of features here rewards slow attention. The mass rock, the wall tomb fragments, and this reassembled stoup together suggest that someone, at some point after 1700, gathered what remained of an older sacred landscape and arranged it in one spot. Visitors should expect an informal and somewhat overgrown setting rather than a managed heritage site. The stoup itself is modest in scale and easy to overlook, but the shallow depression worn into the limestone and the careful hole at its base speak to a long working life somewhere else entirely.