The window frames are gone, leaving raw openings in the sandstone walls; vegetation has worked its way into the fabric of the building; and the whole structure sits within a graveyard that gives little away about the layers of religious use accumulated on this small patch of north Cork ground.

The ruin itself dates to 1812, when a rectangular nave was constructed from random-rubble sandstone, roughly seventeen metres long and eight metres wide, with a three-storey tower at its western end. The tower retains a pointed door opening, a quietly Gothic touch on an otherwise plain building designed to seat a congregation of about a hundred. By 1837, Samuel Lewis, writing in his Topographical Dictionary of Ireland, noted the church had been recently repaired, which suggests it was in active use and considered worth maintaining. But the site it occupies is considerably older. A church stood here before this one, recorded as being in repair as early as 1615 in a source cited by Brady in his 1863 survey of Irish episcopal succession. That earlier structure is catalogued separately, meaning the present ruin is not the beginning of this place's story but somewhere in the middle of it.

The building now sits overgrown, its stonework exposed to weather and root alike, the south wall punctuated by two rough openings and the east wall by a wide one, all stripped of their frames. It is the kind of place where the fabric of the structure tells you more than any inscription might, if you take the time to read the masonry carefully.