It is not what it appears to be. The block was originally a capital, the decorated top section of a column, from a Romanesque doorway, and its presence here is the clearest sign that something far older once stood nearby.

The church itself, sitting roughly at the centre of the graveyard, has been reduced to very little. Ordnance Survey maps from 1838 show it as a rectangular building, approximately fourteen metres east to west and seven metres north to south, and by 1931 it was already marked as a ruin. What survives today is a series of low wall footings, surviving only two or three courses of stone high and less than half a metre in height. The western half of the structure has been swallowed by dense blackthorn scrub, while two sycamore trees have established themselves at the eastern end. The repurposed capital, identified as Romanesque by archaeologist Con Manning in 2009, points to a 12th-century origin for the church. Romanesque architecture in an Irish context typically refers to the style introduced during a period of ecclesiastical reform, characterised by rounded arches and decorative carved stonework, and a carved doorway capital of that period would once have marked a formal and carefully ornamented entrance. That it now marks a grave rather than a threshold is a particular kind of demotion.

About fifty metres to the south-west, in an adjoining field, there is a souterrain, an underground stone-lined passage or chamber of the kind commonly associated with early medieval settlement in Ireland, often interpreted as a place of storage or refuge. Its proximity to the church suggests this corner of Mayo was occupied and organised long before the graveyard took its present form. The interior of the church footprint is uneven and stony underfoot, worth noting for anyone picking their way across it to find the carved capital among the gravemarkers to the south-west.