It does not survive, its precise location has never been firmly established, and the documentary record amounts to little more than two brief mentions separated by twenty years. That combination of significance and near-total obscurity makes it a quietly fascinating fragment of the medieval city.

The cross appears in sources cited by Clarke (2002) as having been recorded in 1328 and again in 1348, where it is described as marking the municipal boundary of Dublin city. Boundary markers of this kind were not unusual in medieval urban life; they served a practical administrative purpose, defining the limits of civic authority, taxation, and legal jurisdiction. A stone cross was a common form for such a marker, carrying both official weight and a religious character that would have been immediately legible to anyone passing it. The gap between the two recorded mentions suggests it was a recognised feature of the landscape across at least two decades of the mid-fourteenth century, a period when Dublin was a significant Anglo-Norman administrative centre. Beyond those two dates, the record goes quiet.

Because the cross has not been precisely located, there is no specific spot to visit and no surviving physical trace to look for. What a visitor can do instead is walk the southern approaches to the medieval city with the question in mind, somewhere along the routes that would have led travellers in from the south, the cross would have announced that they were entering Dublin's domain. Local and regional historic environment records, as well as Clarke's own work on Dublin's topography, might offer the closest thing to a working hypothesis about where it stood. It is the kind of detail that rewards archival curiosity more than fieldwork.