What makes it quietly compelling is not ruin for its own sake but the particular layering of its abandonment: the building itself dates to 1839, the iron waterwheel was swapped out for a wooden one in 1914, most of the gearing and roller stones were carted away in 1952, and then, sometime in the 1970s, the whole operation was simply superseded by a larger modern milling complex built to the east. Each decade left its own kind of absence.

The mill was built by Jeremiah Crowley, and the structure he put up is a solid, gable-ended building with brick-dressed windows across three bays and three storeys. Its waterwheel is of the undershot type, meaning the water strikes the base of the wheel rather than falling onto it from above, and it sat in a wheel pit on the western elevation. The iron buckets on that wheel are now badly corroded, a legacy of the 1914 replacement that itself eventually fell out of use. Despite the clearance of 1952, old pulley lines and elevators remain inside, giving the interior an air of interrupted process rather than complete stripping. Attached to the mill complex are a two-storey grain store, which the owner has identified as a former grain drying kiln, a two-storey miller's house extending to the east, and a long run of two-storey offices and storehouses stretching to the south. It is an unusually complete ensemble for a rural oat mill, even in its diminished state.