Row after row of low, uninscribed marker stones stand in rough lines, simple pieces of rock pushed into the ground without dates, epitaphs, or identities. Whoever placed them knew who lay beneath; everyone else has long since forgotten. It is this quality, the presence of so many unmarked graves alongside more formal memorials, that gives the site its quietly unsettling character.

The graveyard is a roughly rectangular area enclosed by a ruinous stone wall, and it contains the remains of Kilcoe Church, a medieval structure now reduced to a shell. The earliest legible headstones date to the 1860s, and a number of chest tombs, low rectangular box-like structures built over burial plots, are also present. The uninscribed stones are likely considerably older, though precisely how old is difficult to say without further investigation. The practice of marking a grave with an unworked stone was common in Ireland for centuries, particularly for those who could not afford carved memorials, and it is not unusual to find such stones in graveyards attached to medieval church sites. What is unusual here is the sheer number of them, arranged in what appear to be deliberate rows, suggesting a community that buried its dead with care even when it could not record their names in stone.

The setting along Roaringwater Bay adds a particular atmosphere to the place. The bay is a broad, island-scattered inlet, and the graveyard sits close to the waterline, exposed to the weather coming in off the Atlantic. The combination of the ruined church, the silent rows of anonymous markers, and the open water beyond makes this a site that rewards a slow, attentive visit rather than a quick glance from the road.