The structure measures seven metres along its longer axis and just over four metres across, and it is open at its south-western end, a detail that may once have been architecturally deliberate or may simply reflect centuries of loss. What makes it quietly puzzling is that basic question of what it actually was.

A scholarly attempt to answer that question was made by Henry in 1957, who concluded that the remains belonged to either a megalith, a broad term for a large-stone prehistoric monument, or the remnants of a stone-walled hut. The two possibilities are not as far apart as they might seem; both would involve upright slabs set into the ground, and in a landscape that has been farmed, modified, and divided for millennia, the distinction between a prehistoric chamber and a domestic structure can become genuinely difficult to read. The site has not made things easier by yielding to the landscape around it. A field boundary and a drain bisect the structure, and several stones have been partly absorbed into the boundary wall over time. On the southern side, five stones survive, ranging from a modest twenty centimetres in height to a more substantial 1.7 metres, with the taller examples at either end of the row. A slab set at a right angle between two of the southern stones, exposed in the drain, may once have served as a buttress. Two orthostats survive at the north-eastern end, one of them largely hidden beneath encroaching sod, and only two remain on the north-western side. A large boulder sits just outside the westernmost stone but appears unconnected to the original monument.