Local tradition holds that the walls of the old chapel were not demolished but absorbed, folded into the fabric of the dwelling that now occupies the plot. It is the kind of arrangement that sounds fanciful until archaeology confirms it: when excavations were carried out in 2009, nine burials were recovered from within the cottage itself, and the southern wall of the original church was identified in the process. Outside, there is no enclosure, no visible graveyard, no obvious sign that anything of the sort lies beneath.

The church was dedicated to St Breagh, a name that scholars associate with Brioc, and which is considered cognate with Brigid. It appears in a 1680 listing by Synnott as a Catholic church, recorded in Hore's 1862 study of Wexford history. By the time the antiquarian John O'Donovan was conducting his famous topographical survey of Ireland around 1840, he could find no physical trace of the building at all, and said so plainly. That absence did not erase local memory of the place, however, and the persistence of that tradition proved to have something in it. Roughly thirty metres to the south of the cottage, St Broagh's Well still marks the landscape, a holy well being the kind of feature that tends to survive in place long after the religious structures it once accompanied have vanished or been repurposed.

The site sits on the western side of the sand-spit, beside a north-south road. The cottage that may contain the church walls is not a ruin or a monument in any formal sense, which is part of what makes the place quietly arresting. The burials, the well, and the half-absorbed chapel walls together suggest a community of some continuity, layered into a strip of coastal land that most people today associate with ferry terminals rather than early medieval devotion.