What makes the site quietly unsettling is not just its erasure but what that erasure concealed, and what came to light when people tried to build there.

The place takes its name from the Irish Cillin Arann, and the Ordnance Survey Letters, compiled by John O'Flanagan in 1927 from earlier fieldwork, noted that only the site itself was then traceable. A cillin, in Irish tradition, was typically a burial ground set apart from consecrated churchyards, used for unbaptised infants and others excluded from formal Christian burial; the name here points to exactly that function. By the time McCaffrey surveyed the site in 1952, a single wall survived: roughly 7.3 metres long, about a metre wide, and just over a metre high, aligned north to south and buried inside a briar thicket. Even that fragment is now gone. More arresting than the archaeology itself is what McCaffrey recorded from local memory: that human remains were disturbed when people attempted to build houses in the immediate vicinity, an echo of the burial ground that once occupied this patch of pasture. No visible surface trace survives today.