That a roofless ruin should absorb the surrounding burial ground over time is not unusual in Ireland, but the placement of memorials within the interior walls signals a particular kind of long, slow collapse, where the boundary between building and graveyard has simply dissolved.

The site sits on a gently eastward-facing slope, enclosed by pasture, with farm buildings pressing in from the south and west. The graveyard is rectangular, roughly thirty metres north to south and forty metres east to west, with the remains of the church occupying its northern portion. The whole is heavily overgrown with trees, scrub, and nettles, which gives it the quality of a place that has been quietly receding from human attention for some time. Most of the headstones clustered to the south of the church date from the late eighteenth century through to the early twentieth, a span that covers the worst years of the Famine and the decades of slow demographic recovery that followed. Inside the nave, however, the chronology stretches in both directions. One headstone commemorates a member of the Butler family, one of the great Anglo-Norman dynasties whose presence shaped Tipperary for centuries, and dates to the eighteenth century. A second, belonging to the Barrer family, straddles the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Most striking is a third stone, dedicated to the O'Connor family, covering deaths between 1917 and 1959 but apparently erected later in the twentieth century, meaning someone chose, within living memory, to place a memorial inside the shell of a ruined church rather than in the open ground outside.