By the mid-nineteenth century it had been recorded on the Ordnance Survey six-inch map of 1842 as a rectangular structure, clearly derelict, while the working church occupied the western side of the same enclosure. Today, that northeast corner is filled by a large Murphy family tomb and graveplot from the 1840s, set into a slightly sunken terraced area, the only visible trace that something older once stood there. The ground itself has been reshaped around the living and the dead, and the ruin has disappeared beneath them.

The graveyard at Carrigrohane is a rectangle of roughly sixty metres east to west and forty metres north to south, still in active use and extended more recently on its southern side. When the 1842 map was surveyed, the eastern and southern edges of the enclosure were open, suggesting the boundary has been formalised and expanded over time. The church that replaced the ruined one is described in later editions of the Ordnance Survey, in 1902 and 1939, as standing on the site of its predecessor, though the archaeological relationship between the two structures is not fully clear. What is clear is that the graveyard holds considerable depth. A headstone dated 1724 is among the earliest now recorded there, and researchers Coleman and Noonan, writing between 1910 and 1912, noted one dated 1720. More striking still, the antiquarian John Windele observed in 1844 that the oldest gravestone he encountered bore the date 1628, though its location has since been lost. A burial ground in continuous use for at least four centuries, with its oldest legible marker now untraceable, has a particular kind of quiet strangeness to it.