The church known as Kilbreedy Major, dedicated to St. Brigid, sits within a landscape where the placename itself has shifted and contracted over time, recorded variously as Kilbride Major and simply Kilbride across sources spanning 1291 to 1615.

The antiquarian Thomas Johnson Westropp, writing in 1904 to 1905, compiled the most detailed surviving account of the site. He noted that the church measured 63 feet by 27 feet (roughly 19 by 8 metres), a solid if unremarkable footprint for a rural medieval parish church. By 1840, only parts of the west and south walls still stood, the windows had been defaced, and traces of a further wall some 90 feet in length were visible nearby. The surviving walls reached about 11 feet in height. Westropp also drew on medieval legal records to illuminate the human story behind the stonework. In 1318, a man named Ric. Syward and his wife Nesta pursued a claim of dower on the property, meaning Nesta was seeking her legal entitlement to a portion of her late husband's estate, a common cause of litigation in medieval common law. Six years later, in 1324, a suit involving Robert Lenfaunt and two others named Alex and Wentliana Cadygan concerned a messuage, that is, a dwelling house with adjoining land, in the same townland. The church's formal dedication to St. Brigid is recorded precisely: 11 February 1410, a date that falls on the saint's feast day. Close to the church, Westropp noted a holy well called Tober na Doile.

The site lies in the townland of Kilbreedy East, and the remains are slight enough that a visitor approaching without prior knowledge might pass them without pausing. The holy well name, Tober na Doile, is worth seeking out separately, as such wells frequently retain localised devotional significance long after the churches beside them have fallen. The legal records Westropp cited are held in the Plea Rolls of the Irish Exchequer, which gives the site an unusual archival depth for something so physically reduced. Anyone with an interest in medieval land tenure or the cult of St. Brigid in Munster will find the combination of fragmentary fabric and unusually specific documentation quietly rewarding.