It no longer stands. In 1975, it was pulled from its original position and dumped into a nearby field fence, bundled in with ordinary stones as though it were nothing more than an obstacle to be cleared.

Before that happened, the record left by Bowman in 1934 gives at least a sense of what was there: a stone roughly two and a half feet high with a girth of fourteen feet, squat and broad rather than the tall, blade-like uprights more commonly associated with the type. Standing stones, erected during the Bronze Age in most cases, were set into the ground singly and are thought to have served as territorial markers, ritual focal points, or memorials, though their precise function is rarely certain. This one, modest in height but substantial in bulk, would have sat in the valley pasture for several millennia before a twentieth-century land clearance ended that tenure abruptly.

What survives now is essentially an absence. The original socket in the ground may still be traceable, and the stone itself presumably remains somewhere along that field boundary, indistinguishable to a casual eye from the other rubble of the fence. It is the kind of loss that happened quietly all over rural Ireland during agricultural improvement schemes, with no particular malice and little awareness of what was being displaced.