What makes this unusual is not simply their age, but the way they have been repurposed: slabs that were originally intended to lie flat over graves, recumbent markers in the early Christian tradition, were lifted upright at some later point and slotted into the ground like conventional headstones. The practical consequence is that a significant portion of each slab remains buried, and carved decoration that once faced the sky is now either underground or flush against the soil.

The concentration of these slabs in the southern part of the graveyard is no accident. That zone corresponds to the area of 18th and 19th century burials, and it appears that families of that period reached for the ancient slabs as convenient grave markers, not necessarily knowing or caring about their original function. Most of the slabs are made from schist, a locally available metamorphic rock with a slightly flaky, layered texture, though four of the twenty are granite. Cross-slab 17 gives a good sense of what survives and what is lost to burial and weathering. It stands 70 centimetres high, is 52 centimetres wide and 10 centimetres thick, with part of its base still embedded in the ground. On its east face, a weathered outline cross measuring 35 centimetres across is just legible. The arms, upper transom, and shaft are each around 6 centimetres wide, traced by a lightly incised line, and where the arms meet the shaft the intersections are slightly cusped, giving the cross a faint, almost decorative refinement despite the simplicity of the design.

Visitors walking the graveyard should look carefully at the upright stones clustered in the southern section. The cross-slabs are easy to overlook precisely because they have been absorbed into the ordinary landscape of a working burial ground. Kneeling to examine the carved faces at ground level, where weathering and lichen thin out, gives the best chance of making out the incised lines.