The surveyors recorded it faithfully: a small rectangular building sitting within a graveyard, set down in marshy pastureland with the matter-of-fact label "R.C. Chapel (in ruins)". What they captured was the ghost of a building, not a working one.

By the time the OS returned for its 1920 edition, the process of erasure was nearly complete. Where the earlier map showed a defined structure, the later one recorded only a short section of wall, running roughly east to west. That orientation, east to west, is the standard alignment of Christian liturgical buildings, with the altar end facing east. A visit to the site today finds even that remnant gone, or at least unrecognisable: the chapel has become a pile of overgrown rubble, with no cut stone visible and no architectural features surviving above ground. A field wall running along the same east-west axis now bisects the graveyard, and it is quite possible that one of the chapel's original side-walls was simply absorbed into it, its stones quietly conscripted into agricultural use, as happened with countless rural structures across Ireland during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

The graveyard itself remains, even if the building that once gave it a focal point does not. Roughly 170 metres to the south-east lies a holy well, a spring or water source traditionally associated with a local saint and credited with curative or spiritual properties. The proximity of chapel, graveyard, and holy well in the one small area of marshy ground suggests this was once a modest but meaningful local sacred landscape, the kind that accumulated around a particular spot over generations rather than being formally planned.