The enclosure is subrectangular, bounded by a stone wall, and within it the dead are marked in quite different ways depending on where you stand. To the south, lines of low, uninscribed headstones offer no names at all; whoever lies beneath them has passed beyond any written record. To the north, the tone shifts entirely, with a stone-built mausoleum and a pyramidal gravemarker suggesting that at least some families here had both the means and the inclination to be remembered differently.

At the centre of the enclosure stands a ruined church, the kind of structure that was once the reason a graveyard existed in a particular spot at all. In Ireland, early ecclesiastical sites frequently continued to draw burials long after the church itself had fallen out of use or into disrepair, and this appears to be one of those places where the habit of burial outlasted the building that originally sanctioned it. The uninscribed headstones to the south are the more common type across early Irish graveyards, where plain stone markers were used by communities for whom carved lettering was either too costly or simply not the convention. The mausoleum to the north, by contrast, belongs to a later tradition of grander commemoration, and its pyramidal neighbour is an unusual enough form to catch the eye.

The site is still in occasional use, meaning it retains a living connection to the surrounding area rather than existing purely as an archaeological remnant. That combination, a ruined medieval church, anonymous rows of uninscribed stones, and grander funerary monuments all sharing the same small walled enclosure on a hillside above a valley, gives the place a layered quality that rewards a slow look around.