It is a crude, tapering slab, 1.26 metres tall and just under half a metre wide, bearing no inscription of any kind. No name, no date, no decorative carving. In a graveyard where the surrounding stones at least gesture towards identity, this one is entirely mute.

The graveyard itself sits on a natural platform on an east-facing slope, enclosed by a stone wall and measuring roughly 36 metres north to south and 61 metres east to west. A road runs along its southern and western boundaries, and just 30 metres to the west, on the far side of that road, stand the remains of the medieval church of Redcity. The two sites face each other across the tarmac, the church ruins and the walled burial ground occupying the same modest parish landscape but kept apart by the intervening road. The headstones span a considerable stretch of time, from the late 1700s through to at least 1991, yet the uninscribed sandstone slab sits outside that sequence entirely. Whether it predates the convention of inscribed markers, or whether it simply belonged to someone for whom inscription was never possible, is not recorded.