The land looks like ordinary pasture. Nothing breaks the surface to suggest what might lie beneath, or what was once done here in the name of agricultural improvement.

The story attached to this spot was recorded by Seymour in 1907, and it is not an easy one. A man named Stepney, apparently deciding that good farmland was being wasted on the dead, had the graves dug up, the coffins and remains gathered, and attempted to burn them. They would not burn. He then piled the remains on the bank of the Mulkear and waited for a flood to carry them off. The river, in Seymour's telling, washed them back. Stepney was eventually forced to re-inter them in the field, and the spot was marked by a mound. That mound is presumably the raised area, approximately twenty metres wide and a quarter of a metre high, that archaeologists Caimin O'Brien and Matt Kelleher recorded in 2017, running north to south along the crest of the ridge just south of the existing graveyard and east of the abbey. Its function remains officially unclear, and the old graveyard associated with Abbey Owney, the Cistercian house to which this land belonged, has never appeared on any edition of the six-inch Ordnance Survey maps.

The site sits in working farmland and there is nothing to announce its presence to a passing visitor. The existing Abbey Owney graveyard to the north provides the clearest reference point, and the ridge itself, which drops more steeply towards the Mulkear, gives some sense of the topography that shaped both the settlement and its burial practices. The low raised area is subtle enough that it could easily be passed over without the context that the archaeological record provides. What the field holds, and whether the remains Stepney tried so hard to dispossess are still somewhere beneath the grass, is a question the ground has not yet answered.