There are no headstones, no enclosing wall, no visible markers of any kind. The only reason we know what lies beneath is that somebody, surveying the area for the Ordnance Survey in the nineteenth century, recorded it plainly on the six-inch map of 1842 as a children's burial ground.

Places like this are known in Ireland as cillíní, informal burial grounds used for centuries to inter unbaptised infants, and occasionally others considered ineligible for consecrated ground under Catholic practice. Because the Church denied these children a place in the parish graveyard, families buried them instead at the margins, in liminal spots: the edges of fields, old ringfort banks, sea cliffs, or, as here, in ground that may have had earlier sacred associations. The practice was widespread and the sites are numerous, yet most have left almost nothing above the surface. At Lettertinlish, the rectangular outline, visible only as a subtle variation in how plants grow over disturbed or differently composed soil, is itself a kind of accidental memorial, a trace that survives not through any deliberate monument but through the ground's own slow memory.