Nothing of a former church or graveyard is visible at ground level, and daily life on the estate carries on with little outward sign that the ground underfoot may have once been consecrated. What makes the site legible at all is a matter of cartographic patience and the survival of one carved stone standing quietly at the edge of the road.

The evidence comes in fragments. The 1838 Ordnance Survey edition names the field adjacent to the site as "Glebe", a term for land historically assigned to support a parish clergyman, which in itself hints at an organised ecclesiastical presence. The 1907 OS six-inch map shows a faint but telling detail: a roughly semicircular curve in the field boundary, the kind of curvilinear outline that often preserves, in fossilised form, the arc of an early Irish ecclesiastical enclosure, where a roughly circular boundary of earth or stone once defined a sacred precinct. That boundary is otherwise gone. What remains above ground is a cross-slab, 1.22 metres tall, now standing to the east of the estate between it and the road. Writing in 1928, O'Flanagan noted it as having been situated in the graveyard, which suggests it was already displaced or at the margin of the site even then. The slab carries an irregular cross in relief on its upper face, flanked beneath the arms by two raised circular bosses, a modest but distinctive piece of early Christian carving whose precise date is not recorded.

The cross-slab is the one element here that a visitor can actually see, standing at the roadside in a position that feels almost incidental. It rewards a close look: the relief carving is subtle rather than bold, and the bosses flanking the cross give it a character distinct from the more standardised forms found elsewhere in the county. The enclosure it once marked has long since passed beneath tarmac and foundations, leaving this single stone as the sole legible trace of whatever community once gathered on that south-west-facing slope.