Sympathy is strictly rationed these days, writes ISABEL MORTON

IT WAS one thing when property stopped being a sexy subject, but of late it’s become a potentially dangerous topic of conversation and one to be avoided. (So much for this column . . .)

The eviction of Brendan and Asta Kelly from their home in Killiney, Co Dublin last week opened up a line of chat which, heretofore, had been considered taboo.

Everyone knew it was happening of course, but discreetly, with minimal fuss and no publicity.

Families quietly disappeared from their homes and sometimes it remained unnoticed for months, until telltale signs like uncut grass or an overflowing letterbox signalled that a house had been abandoned.

This time, there was no escaping the harsh reality of the Kellys’ eviction. Filmed by a neighbour and put up on YouTube for all to see, within minutes it was headline news.

But let’s be honest: as far as the media was concerned, it was a hard one to sell.

Somehow, the Kellys just didn’t fit the bill and the media, try though it did, eventually had to concede that this particular eviction was not going to evoke an empathetic reaction from the public.

It started out well enough, although the term “elderly couple” might have been a slight exaggeration, given that Brendan is 71 and his wife Asta only 63: although obviously not in the first flush of youth, they could hardly be considered old and infirm. Indeed, they appear to be particularly healthy, active and well for their age.

After the initial shock that a “respectable” couple, in or near retirement age, should be evicted from their home, the public quickly divided into two distinct camps.

Reactions varied dramatically from “God help them, what were the banks doing giving them such a large loan at that age of their lives?” to “they’re just posh gits, trying to pull a fast one”.

And, as more and more information filtered through to the public, the camps’ interpretation of this information grew further apart:

Brendan Kelly is a chartered accountant (he should have known better); he invested all his money in Irish property (foolish); he is now a landlord (a despised breed) and owns at least 21 properties (a voracious property investor).

His wife Asta is German born (she should definitely have known better). They owe their bank at least €2 million (why couldn’t they sell up and move out into one of their other properties?); they lived in a five-bedroom “mansion” (posh), set in gated grounds (very posh), in “the leafy suburb” of Killiney (ridiculously posh) and they have no children (so, what were they doing living in a five-bedroom house anyway?).

As the anti-Kelly voice grew louder, the pro-Kelly camp retreated in fear.

Had they employed the services of a public relations consultant (which they obviously hadn’t), the Kellys would have been advised to forget it, as they had little chance of attracting any sympathy from anyone other than like-minded middle-class professionals, who had been equally burnt by the collapse of the property market.

Ideally, the couple at the centre of an eviction drama would have been unemployed social workers, both suffering from some sort of physical disability or illness, with a dozen or more school-going children, living in a two-bedroom thatched cottage in the back-of-beyond, and would have proof positive in writing that their bank had repeatedly offered them hundreds of thousands of euro to purchase investment property, leaving them forced to sell their own cottage in order to pay off their debts.

But, life is just not like that. Things are never that simple or that perfectly packaged.

The fact that the Kellys might possibly have been model citizens who worked long and hard for the last 40 years and along the way paid vast sums of stamp duty, is of little consequence.

They committed the ultimate sin of borrowing money to invest in property to provide for their old age and, where this might once have been considered astute and responsible, it is now considered greedy and somewhat unsavoury.

They have been tried by the media and sentenced by the public.

And, although the Irish are generous by nature, they are not prone to dishing out pity willy-nilly, particularly now, when most are feeling sorry enough for themselves.

So, unless destitute, on one’s last legs and on the point of expiry, expect nothing more than bitterness, anger and scorn. Like everything else, sympathy is being strictly rationed these days.