Roughly sixteen metres across and barely sixty centimetres deep, it is filled with stone, heavily overgrown, and further obscured by generations of field clearance. It is, in other words, the kind of thing that requires a certain imagination to appreciate, because the landscape has done its best to absorb it.

What makes the site worth noting is the paper trail it has accumulated over the intervening centuries. The 1838 edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map recorded it clearly as an embanked circular enclosure, with a diameter of around forty metres, sitting on its gentle rise. By the time the more detailed 1:2500 plan was surveyed between 1912 and 1916, the picture had already changed: a trackway running roughly north to south, along with a field boundary cutting from north-northeast to south-southeast, had sliced through whatever coherent form the enclosure once held. A barrow, if that is indeed what this is, would typically be a prehistoric burial mound, earthen or stone-built, raised over one or more interments and often enclosed by a surrounding bank or ditch. Whether that description fully applies here remains uncertain. The word "possibly" in any archaeological account carries its own quiet weight, acknowledging that what the ground holds cannot always be confirmed without excavation, and that centuries of agricultural activity can reduce a monument to little more than a geometric suggestion.