There are no inscribed headstones, no formal enclosure wall, and no institutional marker of any kind. What defines the space is a combination of natural rock outcrop along the northern edge, a field fence to the east, and encroaching overgrowth on the southern and western sides. The interior is strewn with loose stones, and the whole area measures approximately 38 metres north to south and 19 metres east to west, large enough to suggest collective rather than individual use.

Within that overgrown interior, two features stand out. In the south-east corner, three upright rectangular stones, the tallest reaching about a metre in height, are set roughly a metre apart and arranged in a triangular formation. Their modest dimensions, each face only about 20 centimetres wide, give them the look of markers rather than monuments, modest gestures of remembrance rather than formal commemoration. In the south-west corner sits a low rectangular mound of small stones, rising just 25 centimetres above the ground and measuring around 2.5 metres by 1.2 metres, its outline loosely defined by a scattering of fallen and upright slabs. No inscription appears on any of the stones. The absence of carved names or dates is itself characteristic of famine-era burial, a period during the 1840s when communities were overwhelmed by mortality and the resources or capacity for formal grave-marking often simply did not exist.

The site sits within working farmland, and its boundaries are as much ecological as built: the rock, the fence, the tangle of vegetation. Visitors approaching through the surrounding rough grazing would find the interior dense with growth, and the stone features, particularly the low mound, require some patience to pick out among the scattered loose material. The three upright markers in the south-east corner are the clearest fixed points once you are inside the enclosure.