No stone, no mound, no boundary marker breaks the grass. The only reason we know it existed at all is that a surveyor recording the landscape for the first Ordnance Survey of Ireland noted it in 1842, marking out an irregular patch of ground roughly ten metres by thirty.

By the time the same area was mapped again in 1904, the site had been dropped from the record entirely, and the 1938 revision ignored it too. Whether this reflects a genuine loss of local knowledge, a change in land use that erased what little was visible, or simply a surveying decision, is now difficult to say. What survives is that single mid-nineteenth-century notation, a ghost of an outline on an old six-inch sheet. The burial ground sits in the company of two other features that suggest this small corner of north Cork was once a place of some significance: a holy well lies immediately to its south, and roughly ten metres to the east is a fulacht fiadh, a type of prehistoric cooking site typically identified by a mound of fire-cracked stone and charcoal-rich soil, found widely across Ireland and generally dated to the Bronze Age. Whether the proximity of these three features reflects deliberate ancient association or is simply the accumulated layering of a landscape used across many centuries, there is no way now to say.