Local tradition names it the 'soldier's grave', and until recently it took the form of a hollow in the ground, the kind of subtle depression that a farmer might notice after heavy rain or a dry summer. That hollow has since been infilled, leaving nothing visible to the eye.

What gives the site a stranger quality is what aerial photography once revealed. A photograph taken in January 1986 as part of the CASAP aerial survey, a systematic effort to capture archaeological shadow sites across Ireland by flying in low winter light when crop marks and soil disturbances are most legible, showed two parallel scarps in the vicinity of the burial, with what appeared to be fosses, that is, ditches or earthen channels often associated with enclosures or boundaries of some kind. When the site was subsequently inspected on the ground, none of these features could be made out. The landscape had closed over whatever lay beneath it. The soldier's grave itself, the local name implying some memory of a particular death or a particular conflict, carries no attached date or name, only the persistence of oral tradition doing what it often does, marking a spot long after the physical evidence has gone.

The combination is a quietly unsettling one: a burial remembered by name, an enclosure glimpsed only from the air, and a site that yields nothing to a visitor standing on the grass above it. What the soldier's grave commemorates, and which soldier, remains entirely open.