What makes it quietly odd is the fireplace. Windmills are working machines, not places where people warm themselves, yet tucked into the northeast wall above the ground-floor window is a small hearth, less than a metre wide and just over half a metre deep. Someone, at some point, expected to be comfortable inside this tower, which raises questions the stonework alone cannot answer.

When surveyors recorded the structure in 1980, they found a building that repays close attention even in its ruined state. The plan is circular, with an internal diameter of about 3.1 metres and walls roughly 0.8 metres thick, plus a solid rectangular projection on the southeast. The north-facing doorway narrows slightly from the base upward, as do the two ground-floor window openings, both of which have internal splays to admit as much light as possible into the dim interior. A third window on the upper level, facing west-southwest, is wider than the others but has lost its stone stop, the small corbel or ledge that would have supported a wooden shutter or frame. The whole structure is built from small blocks of undressed limestone laid in regular courses with flat packing stones and a rough mortar, a functional rather than ornate piece of construction. Evidence of two floors survives, though the original height of the tower remains unknown. Windmills of this tower-mill type, where the machinery sat inside a fixed stone body and only the cap carrying the sails rotated, were once a familiar enough feature of the Irish midlands, where flat boggy terrain offered reliable wind but little fast-flowing water to drive a millstone.