The problem is that no one can find it. There is no physical evidence of a well on the ground, and no local memory of one either, leaving the site in a peculiar category: a place that exists on the historical record, but apparently nowhere else.

Holy wells in Ireland were typically focal points for patterns, the term used for devotional gatherings held on a saint's feast day or another significant date in the liturgical calendar. This one was associated with Trinity Sunday, the first Sunday after Pentecost, a moveable feast falling in late May or June. By around 1800, however, the pattern had already been abandoned. This is known because the scholar and place-name specialist John O'Donovan, writing around 1840, noted that the gathering had been discontinued for roughly four decades by his time. O'Donovan's observation was later published in a collection edited by M. O'Flanagan in 1933. So even when the cartographers of the first Ordnance Survey were doing their work in the 1830s, the well they recorded was already a memory rather than an active site of devotion.

What remains is a quietly awkward cartographic ghost. The OS surveyors clearly had some basis for marking and naming it, yet the waterlogged terrain around Genstown may have long since swallowed whatever physical feature once drew people there on summer Sundays. The gap between two maps separated by nearly a century, both confidently labelling the same spot in the same gothic script, and a landscape that yields nothing, says something worth sitting with about how places are recorded, repeated, and eventually hollowed out.