The bulk of the building came down in 1839, and the stone did not stay long on the ground; as the antiquarian Molony recorded in 1905, most of the fallen portions were carted away for building elsewhere. The result is a ruin that tells you more about the nineteenth-century appetite for ready-dressed stone than it does about whatever congregation once gathered here.

When Molony examined the site in the early twentieth century, he could still make out foundations suggesting the church had measured some 67 feet in external length, set within an enclosure of approximately 115 feet by 60 feet. None of that is legible in the landscape now. What does survive is the south wall, running about 6.2 metres internally, and a portion of the west gable, which still stands to its full original height before breaking off abruptly where part of a window ingoing, the angled stone reveal of a window opening, remains visible. In the south wall, close to the surviving corner, there is a rough opening that was almost certainly a doorway; a draw-bar socket on its east side, a square recess cut to receive the timber bar that would have secured the door from inside, confirms the reading. Just east of this, a small wall press prompted Molony to suggest it had held a stoup, a shallow basin for holy water, placed conveniently beside the entrance. The Ordnance Survey Name Books associate the site with St Patrick, though the precise dedication and the church's age are not recorded in the surviving sources.

The ruin sits in pasture, so access will depend on the landowner, and the ground on a north-facing slope can be soft underfoot in wetter months. The ivy covering the masonry makes close inspection awkward, but the draw-bar socket in the doorway jamb is worth finding if you can get near enough; it is one of the few features that fixes this fragment as something more than a field wall. There is no visible burial ground in the vicinity, which sets it apart from many Limerick church ruins of comparable age and condition.