The building it once belonged to has vanished, leaving the tower to stand alone among the headstones like a full stop at the end of a sentence that no longer exists. Sitting on a natural rise in the ground, the site commands clear views in every direction, the kind of elevated position that has attracted settlement and ceremony for centuries.

The church itself was constructed in 1805, according to the Ordnance Survey Letters, a remarkable 19th-century compilation in which surveyors recorded local history and topography as they mapped the country. That 1805 building may itself have been raised on the footprint of an earlier place of worship, suggesting continuity of religious use on this particular patch of ground stretching back well before the graveyard's oldest surviving markers. The headstones visible today date from the 18th and 19th centuries, and the graveyard is enclosed by a rubble limestone wall, modest in construction but durable enough to have kept its rough rectangular shape, measuring roughly 33 metres north to south and 46 metres east to west. The combination of an isolated tower, a layered burial ground, and a site that almost certainly predates the church we can document gives this quiet hilltop a quietly complicated past.