The headstones remain, dating from the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but of the building they once surrounded there is not a trace at ground level. Two churches once stood in close proximity here, and neither is now in use; the graveyard sits roughly sixty metres to the north-east of what became a nineteenth-century church, itself long abandoned.

The earlier church was still visible, at least on paper, in 1838, when the first Ordnance Survey six-inch mapping of Ireland recorded it as a rectangular structure on the landscape. By the time anyone thought to look carefully at the ground, it had disappeared entirely. What has survived, aside from the headstones themselves, may be the ghost of the original enclosure: the road that curves around the graveyard is thought to follow the line of whatever boundary once defined the earlier ecclesiastical site. The present quadrangular enclosure is marked by a modern stone wall, but the older geometry appears to persist in the road's arc, a quiet imprint of a layout that predates anything now standing.

The site sits in a landscape where the Avoca valley opens out to the east, giving the spur a natural prominence that likely explains why it was chosen in the first place. For anyone moving through this part of Wicklow, the graveyard reads at first as an ordinary rural burial ground, modest and tidy. The interest lies in what is absent: a church that appeared on a map nearly two centuries ago and has since left no physical evidence, and an enclosure whose outline survives only in the curve of a country road.