That kind of concentrated rural industry, where corn milling, wool carding, and cloth tucking all operated within the same yard, was not uncommon in nineteenth-century Ireland, but it is rare to find a site where the physical traces of each function survive with such clarity.

The principal building is a two-storey gable-ended corn mill, with a two-storey storehouse added to its south-west. The wheel-pit along the north-west gable has since been infilled, but a wooden axle, roughly one and a half metres long and nearly half a metre in diameter, with six arm sockets at each terminal, still lies in an adjacent field. It is the kind of component that would have translated the turning motion of a waterwheel into the mechanical work of the millstones, and its survival above ground is unusual. The mill itself retains mid-twentieth-century milling machinery, suggesting the building remained in working use well into living memory. A single-storey addition along the north-east elevation served, according to the owner, as a carding mill, where raw wool would have been combed and prepared for spinning. Attached to a residential house to the south-west is a further single-bay, single-storey structure identified by the owner as a tuck mill, powered in the nineteenth century by an eight-foot waterwheel. A tuck mill, also known as a fulling mill, used mechanical hammers driven by water to pound and thicken freshly woven woollen cloth, finishing it for use or sale.

The co-location of corn milling, carding, and tucking reflects how fully a river like the Roury could be put to work by a rural community, with each drop in water level pressed into service for a different purpose. The wooden axle sitting quietly in a field beside the mill is perhaps the most arresting detail; not installed, not displayed, simply present.