It appeared on the first edition Ordnance Survey six-inch map of 1839, carefully noted by surveyors who recorded what was then still a legible earthwork. By the time the revised edition was produced in 1900, it was gone, levelled at some point in the intervening decades as agricultural improvement and land reclamation reshaped the area. The enclosure no longer registers at ground level in any way a walker would notice.

What makes the site quietly compelling is that erasure from the physical landscape does not mean erasure from the record entirely. Satellite imagery captured in June 2018 picked up a cropmark where the enclosure once stood, the buried remains of its banks or ditches causing crops above to grow at a slightly different rate, producing a faint circular trace visible only from altitude. A cropmark is essentially a form of accidental photography, the hidden archaeology of a place briefly revealing itself through the behaviour of plants responding to buried soil differences. A linear cropmark crossing the north-western sector of the circle marks a later field boundary, suggesting the land was divided and reorganised without anyone involved necessarily knowing what lay beneath. This site was not alone in the area either. At least four other enclosures once stood within roughly a hundred and forty metres in various directions, all of them recorded on that same 1839 map and all of them similarly levelled before the twentieth century was underway.

The enclosures are not visible at ground level, and there is nothing on the surface to indicate that the field holds anything other than cultivated pasture. The whole cluster survives now only as cartographic evidence, buried soil anomalies, and the pale geometry that occasionally emerges in aerial and satellite images when conditions are right.