It is easy to miss, and very probably always was. What makes it worth a second look is what it once was: a door jamb, carefully worked, with a chamfered edge and a plain stop, the kind of refined stonecutting that signals a building of some consequence rather than a barn or a field wall.

The stone measures 0.53 metres in length and bears two signs of deliberate craft. Punch dressing, achieved by striking the surface repeatedly with a pointed tool to produce a regular, slightly textured face, covers the visible plane, and a margin is picked out by a finely incised line running along the edge. The chamfer itself, a bevelled reduction of the corner running 0.4 metres in height, is finished with a plain stop, where the angled cut meets the flat face of the stone cleanly rather than tapering away. None of this is accidental or rough. Whoever dressed this jamb knew what they were doing, and whoever commissioned it expected something presentable. The two buttresses into which it and other salvaged stones have been built stand at the rear of O'Brien's hostel, a converted outbuilding sitting around 200 metres north-east of Hore Abbey, a Cistercian ruin of the thirteenth century. Where exactly the jamb came from before it ended up here is not recorded, though its quality and its proximity to the ecclesiastical and civic concentration of Cashel make a building in that town the most plausible origin.

The yard itself has an odd topography worth noting: the ground level immediately beside the outbuilding drops about a metre below the rest of the space, which means the jamb, embedded horizontally in the eastern buttress, sits at a height that would have been unremarkable at ground level in its original setting but now floats conspicuously above the lower surface. It is the kind of small dislocation that makes salvaged stone readable as salvage, if you know to look.