The qualification matters, because by 1987 the stone had disappeared entirely from view, swallowed by the pasture above it. It had been modest enough to begin with: recorded in 1939 as roughly 0.6 metres by 0.55 metres in cross-section and standing somewhere between 0.85 and one metre tall, with a flattened rectangular top. Not a towering prehistoric monolith, then, but a deliberate placement in the landscape, positioned towards the crest of a slope looking out over the corridor of the Bann River, which runs roughly north-north-west to south-south-east some 900 metres to the south-west.

What makes the stone quietly interesting is how thinly documented it is, and how that thin documentation itself tells a story. It appears on the 1940 edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map, which suggests it was still a visible, recognisable feature of the landscape within living memory of people now gone. The 1939 field measurement, precise enough in its dimensions, captures a moment when someone thought it worth recording carefully. By the time anyone looked again in 1987, the ground had closed over it. Whether it fell, was buried by agricultural activity, or simply subsided into soft pasture is unrecorded. Standing stones of this kind, generally prehistoric in origin and often associated with territorial markers, ritual sites, or routeways, were once far more numerous across the Irish countryside than the surviving record suggests. Many have been removed, broken up, or, like this one, quietly absorbed into the earth.