One particular fragment, dating to the 15th or 16th century, is among twenty-nine such pieces recorded at Killagha Abbey, a site where carved stonework has been quietly dissolving back into the landscape for centuries.

Killagha Abbey itself still stands, at least partially. The rectangular structure occupies the northernmost edge of the graveyard, its north wall forming much of that boundary. When surveyor Laurence Dunne examined the site in 2012, he found the interior of the graveyard little used and heavily overgrown, with only a single perimeter path still negotiable. Of the twenty-nine architectural fragments he recorded, sixteen had been incorporated back into the fabric of the abbey walls themselves, a common enough fate for loose carved stone. Another was reused as a grave marker directly beneath the piscina, a small stone basin built into a church wall for rinsing liturgical vessels, which gives some sense of how the site's medieval fittings were gradually repurposed by later generations. The remaining fragments lay around the south and south-eastern exterior of the abbey. Dunne had noted a further six fragments, along with twelve masons' marks, on earlier visits in 2006 and 2010, though the vegetation during the 2012 survey was thick enough to prevent the full tally from being confirmed.

Anyone visiting the site should expect a genuinely difficult approach. The graveyard is described as very hard to negotiate, with dense vegetation obscuring both the ground and many of the stones themselves. The fragments that are visible reward close attention; masons' marks in particular, the personal signatures chisel-cut into stone by individual craftsmen to track their work for payment, are easy to overlook unless you are specifically looking for them.