The circumstances of their interment suggest not a formal community cemetery but something more urgent and sorrowful, a mass response to catastrophe.

The burials came to light in 1964 during quarrying operations, when workers uncovered more than thirty skeletons arranged in a low gravel ridge. The discovery was not handled gently. Most of the remains were removed before archaeologists could examine them properly, and the topsoil was stripped away, making it impossible to tell whether any surface markers, mounds or stones, had ever existed above the graves. What the subsequent investigation did recover were a further seven adult skeletons in four separate graves, lying close together and all oriented east to west, the alignment typical of Christian burial practice, in which the dead were laid with their heads to the west so that they would face east, towards the rising sun, at the resurrection. There were no grave goods of any kind. The archaeologist Kevin Danaher concluded that these were burials from the Christian period and that, because they lay in unconsecrated ground rather than within a recognised church cemetery, they were most likely the result of a local plague or famine. Burial outside consecrated ground was not a decision made lightly; it usually indicates that the dead were either too numerous, too sudden, or too socially marginalised to be accommodated within the normal rites of the parish.

There is, in practical terms, nothing to visit. The site is now subsumed within an industrial complex, and no physical trace of the burial ground remains accessible to the public. What makes Robertstown worth knowing about is precisely that absence: a community's worst moment, briefly glimpsed during a quarry operation, then covered over again before it could be properly understood.