The site carries a designation, a history of scholarly attention, and a graveyard that has been enclosed and re-enclosed over the centuries, yet no physical trace of any ecclesiastical building has ever been confirmed there. It is, in a quiet way, a monument to the persistence of a name.

The confusion has deep roots. When the first edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map was produced in the nineteenth century, the site was marked as a graveyard, but no church was indicated even then. Comerford, writing in 1883, stated plainly that no church had ever been located there. Despite this, the site continued to attract attention: in 1942, a researcher named Davies recorded what he identified as a door jamb, a fragment that would have implied some structural remains. No such fragment is now visible, and no corroborating architectural evidence has since come to light. The graveyard itself was once enclosed within an earthen bank, a form of boundary common around early ecclesiastical and burial sites in Ireland, which was detectable on aerial photographs as a roughly circular enclosure. That earthen feature has since disappeared, and a modern wall now marks the boundary instead.

What remains, then, is a graveyard that has outlasted whatever gave it its name, surrounded by a boundary that has itself been replaced, associated with a building that two centuries of observation have failed to locate. Whether Davies misidentified a loose stone or the door jamb simply vanished between 1942 and later surveys is unresolved. The site sits at an intersection of gaps: a church on no map, a stone in no ground, an enclosure visible only from the air and now gone even from that.