That ordinariness is part of what makes it worth pausing over. A medieval church, reduced to low and fragmentary walls, occupying a patch of level ground amid suburban housing, carries a quiet incongruity that no amount of signage could quite resolve.

The church is modest in scale, measuring roughly 11.5 metres in length and 4.5 metres in width, oriented on a WSW to ENE axis in the manner common to early ecclesiastical buildings. The east window visible today is the product of modern repair rather than survival, so what little authenticity remains lies mainly in the fabric of the walls themselves. A gap in the north wall has been interpreted as a possible original doorway. Far more puzzling is a small annexe bonded into the west wall, measuring approximately 3.8 metres by 4.4 metres, with opposing pointed arches that span the full width of both its north and south walls. The function of this addition is unclear, and the pointed arches give it an architectural character that sits oddly against the plain rectangular shell of the main structure. O'Flanagan, writing in 1927, noted the building, though its origins and precise history remain difficult to unpick from what survives.