The river continues to erode the site, gradually claiming ground that has held the dead for centuries. It is an uncomfortable reminder that burial places, however permanent they feel, are subject to the same pressures as any other piece of land, and here the process is visible and ongoing.

The yard is enclosed on its northern, eastern, and western sides by a stone wall, though the enclosure has done little to hold back the river. Within it stand many low, uninscribed gravemarkers, the kind that offer no name, no date, no record of the person below. The oldest inscribed headstones date to the 1770s, and there are also some chest tombs, a style in which the grave is covered by a large box-like stone structure raised above ground level. The remains of an earlier church survive within the boundary as well, suggesting the site has a considerably longer history than the eighteenth-century headstones alone would indicate. Adding to the strangeness of the setting, a disused gravel quarry skirts the northern and western edges of the yard, so the graveyard sits between two kinds of extraction: one historical and industrial, the other slow and fluvial.