What makes the arrangement quietly puzzling is not so much its modest scale as the sense that what survives is only a fraction of something larger. The north-eastern stone is the smallest, barely 0.4 metres high, and its top appears broken. The middle stone is the tallest at 1.5 metres. The south-western stone has fallen completely and now lies flat, stretching 4.25 metres along the ground, a dimension that sits uneasily with the idea of this being a simple standing stone row.

Local tradition, recorded by Myler in 1998, holds that this was once a large megalithic tomb, broken apart and its stones carried off for the construction of a house. The same tradition speaks of burial at the site, and of a ceallúrach or cillineach in a round hollow to the north-west. A cillineach, sometimes spelled cillín, is an informal or unconsecrated burial ground, often used historically for unbaptised infants or others excluded from churchyard burial, and it is said to have long fallen out of use. Whether the tomb interpretation is correct is impossible to say with confidence now, but the fallen south-western stone, at over four metres in length, does raise the question of whether something considerably more substantial once stood here before it was dismantled and redistributed into the walls of a building that itself has probably long since disappeared.