That uncertainty is itself part of the story. A small triangular patch of overgrown ground, enclosed by an earthen field fence roughly a metre high, is the best candidate for a site that was once known locally but has since slipped out of living memory. No grave markers are visible inside. The ground keeps whatever it holds to itself.

A researcher named Bowman, writing in 1934, recorded both a church site and a burial ground here on land then belonging to a Mr Kenny, but noted at the time that there was already no sign of either. The association with the Penal Laws adds a darker layer. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, a series of statutes severely restricted Catholic worship and land ownership in Ireland, and the unofficial, marginal spaces that grew up around that suppression, secret Mass rocks, unregistered burial plots, sites outside the formal parish system, often carried a quiet weight of their own. Local tradition holds that executions were carried out at this spot during that period, which would place it among those unsanctioned places where the consequences of the Penal era were most brutally felt. Whether the triangular enclosure genuinely marks the site or is simply the closest surviving candidate is a question that appears to have no definitive answer.