A tall communications mast looms to the north of this quiet graveyard on the slopes above Carbury, a collision of centuries that somehow suits the place rather than diminishing it. The contrast is quietly arresting: a well-built perimeter wall, capped with stone crosses along its length and mortared throughout, enclosing a rectangular plot of roughly 80 metres east to west and 45 metres wide, while modern infrastructure hums overhead. The wall has been patched with concrete along its northern side at some point, a pragmatic repair that sits uneasily alongside the older craftsmanship but speaks to the graveyard's continued use and care.

The ground falls gently westward across the site, and the burials cluster towards the centre and the more gradually sloping southern portion, which tends to be where the oldest interments settle in working graveyards of this type. The earliest headstone that can still be read dates to 1794, though the ground almost certainly holds older dead. More intriguing is the northwest corner, where a possible church site has been identified. This is the kind of trace that turns a graveyard into a longer story: early ecclesiastical sites in Ireland were frequently surrounded by a burial ground, and the name Templedooath itself carries the Irish word teampall, meaning church, suggesting a foundation that predates any standing fabric by a considerable margin. A modern drain cuts east to west inside the southern boundary, a small practical intrusion into what is otherwise a landscape still largely shaped by older hands.