No stone, no mound, no boundary marks it out. Nobody nearby remembers it. The ground keeps its secret completely.

The site earned its place in the historical record largely because of two things: a cartographic trace and a moment of accidental discovery. The 1838 Ordnance Survey six-inch map, one of the most ambitious mapping projects ever undertaken in Ireland, recorded it plainly as the "Site of Creghorn Grave Yard", suggesting that even by that date the burial ground was already understood as something former rather than active. The OS Letters, a remarkable series of field notebooks compiled by Ordnance Survey officers as they moved through the Irish countryside gathering local lore and place-name information, noted a tradition among local people that a burial ground had once occupied this spot. More concretely, human bone had been uncovered there sometime in the 1820s, lending the tradition a degree of physical confirmation. Those letters were later edited and published by Michael O'Flanagan in 1928, preserving what might otherwise have been a footnote lost entirely to time.

What is quietly strange about Creghorn is not that it has been forgotten, burial grounds fall out of use and out of memory with some regularity, but that it had apparently already been forgotten, or at least historicised, at the very moment the nineteenth-century surveyors arrived to write everything down. It was a site of something, even then. Who was buried there, when the ground was last used for that purpose, and what the name Creghorn itself preserves are questions the slope does not answer.