On the 1932 edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map, the spot appears as a hachured feature, the short radiating lines that mapmakers used to indicate a depression or earthwork of some kind, suggesting something with defined edges and perhaps a story behind it. When someone finally went to look in 1985, the reality was more modest: a gravel pit, its presence indicated by little more than a hollow in the field.

There is something quietly instructive about this discrepancy. The six-inch OS maps, produced and revised across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, were extraordinarily detailed documents, capturing field boundaries, ruins, holy wells, and minor earthworks that might otherwise have left no trace in the written record. A hachured marking carried a degree of seriousness, the suggestion of an archaeological or at least topographical feature worth noting. That a gravel pit should carry such weight on the page, and then resolve, on inspection half a century later, into a simple hollow, is a small reminder of how maps can accumulate ambiguity over time, each revision inheriting the uncertainties of the last.