J. Westropp's description, essentially featureless. The east end is gone entirely, and the Ordnance Survey surveyors of 1840 noted that not even the foundation of the rest of the building could be traced. What they did record was careful and precise: walls eleven feet high and four feet thick, built not from quarried stone but from large field limestones set in lime and sand mortar. The surviving west gable measures twenty-four feet across on the inside. It sits on elevated ground within a graveyard that was, as of 1840, very much still in use.

The church's documentary record stretches back to the late thirteenth century, with its name appearing in various spellings across several centuries of records. A rector named Symon f. Walter held the living of Crecouertha in 1278 and resigned in 1282, the same year John de Cogan granted the church to St. Mary's Cathedral in Limerick. Around 1280, a W. de Wess surrendered his own claims on the church to the Dean and Chapter of Limerick, suggesting the living was a contested piece of ecclesiastical property. By 1410 the church was recorded as dedicated to Saints Peter and Paul, and a survey of 1657 noted it as still roofed, which makes the destruction attributed to the Wars of the Confederation, the mid-seventeenth-century conflict between Confederate Catholic Ireland and English Parliamentary forces, roughly datable to the years between that survey and the ruin seen today. The place-name itself, according to the scholar Dr. Joyce as cited by Westropp, translates as "the branching tree," and the poet O'Huidhrin, writing around 1420, described the area as "the territory of O'Conaing, by the meadow side of Craobh Cumhraidhe."

The ruins sit in the glebe of Crecora, which is to say on land historically attached to the parish church for the support of its clergy. The graveyard surrounding them remains an active burial ground, so the site retains a quiet sense of continuity despite the fragmentary state of the building. The west wall is the only substantial upstanding element, and visitors looking for ornamental detail or carved stonework will find none; Westropp's word "featureless" was not unkind, simply accurate. The interest here lies less in the fabric itself than in the layered record of a small rural parish navigating grants, rectors, and eventual ruin across four centuries of Irish ecclesiastical history.