When archaeologists excavated the site in 2000, they found human remains lying in a layer that also contained shroud pins, fragments of seventeenth-century pottery, clay pipe fragments, and pieces of glazed floor tile, one of which carried a line-impressed decoration. The combination is quietly telling: people were still being interred here, and being interred in a particular way, well into the post-medieval period.

The objects recovered point toward a continuing attachment to the medieval friary of St. Francis, the Franciscan foundation that once stood in this part of the city. Shroud pins are the small metal pins used to fasten a burial shroud around a body before interment, and their presence alongside the ceramic material helps to date the burials to the seventeenth century. According to Doyle's 2002 analysis of the excavation, the burials are thought to have been aligned on a standing element or on a surviving tradition connected to the friary. In other words, even after the suppression of the religious house, the memory of where it stood, and what it meant, was precise enough to guide where the dead were placed. The glazed floor tile, with its incised line decoration, likely represents material displaced from the friary's original fabric, worked into the ground over generations of use and disturbance.

The site sits within the dense urban fabric of Dublin's south city, which means there is nothing conventionally visible to seek out. The archaeology exists as a record rather than a landscape feature, documented through the excavation report rather than marked on any trail. For those interested in the physical traces of pre-Reformation Dublin, the National Museum of Ireland holds collections of comparable material culture from urban excavations across the city, and the published record, including Doyle's 2002 account, remains the most direct way into what was found here and what it suggests about how ordinary Dubliners navigated the long aftermath of the dissolution of the monasteries.