No walls, no carved stones, no obvious boundary. The only clue is the land itself, which rises gently and, if you know to look, resolves into a series of grass-covered mounds, the kind of quiet undulation that might easily be mistaken for natural variation in the ground.

The hill is recorded under the name Ardnacille, and it was identified as the site of a church and associated burial ground by Bowman, writing in 1934. By the time he visited, the physical fabric of the church had already gone. A landowner told him that the stones had been removed many years previously, a fate common to rural ecclesiastical sites across Ireland, where dressed or worked stone was often reused in field walls, farmbuildings, or domestic structures. Bowman noted the grass-covered mounds as the principal surviving evidence, interpreted as marking graves within what would have been a consecrated enclosure. When the site was assessed more recently, no surface trace of the church itself remained, though the present landowner still knew the ground as a burial place, a piece of local memory that has outlasted the stonework by some considerable margin.

What survives at Kilknockane is essentially a place held in knowledge rather than in form. The mounds Bowman described are the most tangible remainder of a community that once buried its dead on this low ridge, and the continuity of that local awareness, passed between landowners across generations, is itself a kind of record.