What is quietly remarkable about the graveyard at Coolineagh in mid Cork is just how many of those layers are still visible, compressed into a subrectangular enclosure measuring roughly seventy metres east to west and forty-five metres north to south, bounded by a stone wall that itself traces the outline of a much older ecclesiastical enclosure.

The site sits on the north side of the road within that early enclosure, and it has been in occasional use as a burial ground well into the modern era, with inscribed headstones from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries scattered across the ground, the earliest of them dated 1794. Immediately east of the church ruins lies a late-medieval graveslab, now broken into three pieces, measuring roughly sixty-seven centimetres by one metre seventy. It carries an incised ringed cross-head with eight arms in a fleur-de-lis style, the shaft rising from a stepped base, a decorative convention found across late-medieval Irish ecclesiastical stonework. In the south-east quadrant stands an ogham stone, one of the upright pillars inscribed in the early medieval Irish script that uses a series of notches and strokes along a central stemline to record, usually, personal names. A second ogham stone came to light during the demolition of the earlier of the two Church of Ireland parish churches of Aghabulloge that once stood at the centre of the graveyard, suggesting the site had been drawing in and absorbing significant objects for a very long time. Tucked into the north-east corner is a saint's stone, moved here from elsewhere, adding one more relocated fragment to a place that seems to have functioned, over the centuries, as a kind of accumulation point for things considered too important to discard.