The claim is unverified in any written record, which makes it more interesting rather than less. The remains are modest to the eye, the kind of thing that could be walked past without a second glance, yet they carry the particular weight of a place that a community has quietly remembered across generations.

What survives on the ground amounts to several distinct features clustered near an older enclosure. Two rectangular areas are defined by degraded earthen banks: one oriented northeast to southwest, measuring roughly 7.5 metres by 4.7 metres, and a second slightly larger one to its southwest, running north to south at approximately 9.5 metres by 8.2 metres. A short distance to the west sits a U-shaped feature about 1.9 metres deep, bounded by a substantial bank some 4 metres wide. These are the kinds of traces left by vernacular settlement, the collapsed walls and boundary lines of houses built without mortar or elaborate foundations, which is partly why no date can be confidently assigned to them. The association with a nearby enclosure adds context without resolving anything. Enclosures of this type in the Irish landscape range widely in date and function, from early medieval farming settlements to later livestock management, and the relationship between the house foundations and this particular one remains unclear.

The persistence of the local tradition is perhaps the most telling detail here. Archaeological evidence without a name or a date tends to dissolve into the landscape, but when a community holds onto a story about a place, even vaguely, it suggests some continuity of knowledge that the physical remains alone cannot convey. Whether the tradition reflects genuine folk memory or simply the human habit of attaching meaning to unexplained earthworks, it keeps the site present in a way that the grassy banks alone would not.