There’s a frisson of one-upmanship between Ryan Tubridy and Joe Duffy

One hundred years after Michael Collins was killed, the week’s radio is awash with commemorative shows that highlight the divisions prompted by his death in the Civil War, with former comrades becoming adversaries almost overnight. Admittedly the rival programmes hosted by Ryan Tubridy and Joe Duffy don’t descend into lethal internecine conflict, but there’s a certain frisson of one-upmanship as the RTÉ Radio 1 colleagues present their different takes on the death of Collins, underscoring their contrasting styles in the process.

A portentous air pervades The Ryan Tubridy Show (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) as the host broadcasts from the Imperial Hotel in Cork, where, as he says, Collins spent his “last night on Earth”. Tubridy is in full civics-teacher mode as he earnestly intones about “history weighing heavily” and speaks of his pride at the sight of a fluttering Tricolour. In his defence, his emotional connection to the historical resonance of the occasion is obviously sincere – he recalls both his grandfathers as “staunch anti-Treaty men” – but he projects a self-conscious solemnity more suited to a state speech than, well, a morning chatshow.

Tubridy races through his interviews, his already limited airtime eaten up by his introductory remarks. For all that he talks up the big occasion, he can’t find the right pitch on the day

Sure enough, the demands of the format lead to moments of bathos. Following his opening monologue, Tubridy talks to the hotel’s owner, Allen Flynn, about new renovations to the room that Collins stayed in. Nothing wrong with that – lighthearted conversation is second nature to the host – but it jars coming straight after the host’s would-be stirring spiel. There are notable guests on the programme – Collins’s grandniece Fidelma, the artist Mick O’Dea – but Tubridy races through his interviews, his already limited airtime eaten up by his introductory remarks. For all that he talks up the big occasion, he can’t find the right pitch on the day.

But Tubridy fares better when the pressure is off. On Wednesday, he is in more typically casual mood, relaying stunningly prosaic anecdotes: he yaks for several minutes about seeing the Tom Cruise movie Top Gun: Maverick in the cinema the previous evening. It’s as riveting as it sounds. But things pick up when he speaks to Audrey Dalton, daughter of Emmet Dalton, the Free State general who was with Collins when he was killed.

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It’s a gently absorbing encounter, as Tubridy draws out stories from Dalton about her father, who served with the British army in the first World War before fighting in both the independence struggle and the Civil War. (Irish history might have been different had Collins followed Dalton’s sound military advice to “drive like hell” through the ambush at Béal na Bláth.)

But the conversation explores other areas, such as Emmet Dalton’s subsequent if somewhat unlikely career as a pioneer of the Irish film industry, as well as Audrey’s own life as an actor: she has an American twang, having moved to the United States to pursue her profession in the 1950s. Her testimony ends up as an alternative personal history of Ireland over the past 100 years. For all that we concentrate on the pivotal events of the past, such stories remind the listener that most people just try to get on with their lives. Similarly, Tubridy’s show works better when he swaps the momentous occasion for everyday experience.

It’s impossible not to be curious about a local IRA volunteer called Dinny the Dane, or at the information that much of the IRA ambush party had retired to the pub when Michael Collins finally drove into the cross hairs

Human drama is Joe Duffy’s stock in trade on Liveline (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), so it’s unsurprising that his approach on the Collins centenary is more intimately scaled than Tubridy’s. It’s also more effective. Admittedly, the portents aren’t encouraging: flagging the show on Ronan Collins’s programme, Duffy imagines Michael Collins having a glass of Guinness in Clonakilty on his last day, surely a heretical choice of beverage in any Cork pub.

As he talks to two local historians, Tim Crowley and Niall Murray, on the show proper, Duffy focuses on personal stories. If the family trees of local anti-Treaty figures can seem knotty to the casual listener, there are many fascinating details along the way. It’s impossible not to be curious about a local IRA volunteer called Dinny the Dane, or at the information that much of the IRA ambush party had retired to the pub when Collins finally drove into the cross hairs, or indeed that his favourite meal was, according to Duffy, “a big hearty breakfast” with a cup of strong tea.

This is the dust of daily life that gets lost in the broader sweep of history, but approaching the Collins story in such granular fashion imbues it with the kind of experiential immediacy that Liveline brings to more contemporary topics. The cumulative effect of all this is such that there’s an unexpected poignancy at the show’s end, as Crowley recounts how Collins was fatally shot while firing on his IRA attackers. One can even forgive the heartfelt but cliched playing of the last post.

Joe Duffy gamely keeps the conversation about personal safety alarms for older people puttering along, moving between concerned questioning and jolly banter: at one point he starts talking about Copper Face Jacks: The Musical to a baffled-sounding caller

If Duffy’s take on the anniversary is more evocative than Tubridy’s, he’s back to dealing with more grimly mundane matters by midweek. The nauseating aggravated burglary on a 94-year woman and her two sons in Co Sligo inevitably attracts outraged yet nervous calls, as listeners share stories of similarly disturbing incidents. Eventually, however, the talk turns to a related practical matter, that of personal safety alarms. Several older callers who live alone attest to the sense of security brought by such devices, normally worn as pendants. One woman, Mary, who lost her husband in the past year, describes her alarm as “my ammunition – it takes away a lot of the fear”.

It’s not the most uplifting topic, nor frankly the most riveting, but Duffy gamely keeps things puttering along, moving between concerned questioning and jolly banter: at one point he starts talking about Copper Face Jacks: The Musical to a baffled-sounding caller. But as Mary’s affecting contribution emphasises, it’s a vital matter for the many older people who live in isolation, anxiety or fear. For all that Duffy has an ear for the tragedies of the past, he remains keenly attuned to the problems of the present.

Radio Moment of the Week

On Monday’s News at One (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), its presenter, Mary Wilson, tackles a small but significant issue about Ireland’s most imposing landmark, as she investigates how best to pronounce the Cliffs of Moher. With a language app having recently claimed that the name is regularly mangled, Geraldine Enright, director of the site’s visitor centre, says that Co Clare natives “pronounce the ‘h’ in the word Moher”. Wilson says that she “always believes in what local people say”, which seems only right. That being the case, this writer of Tyrone ancestry hopes that Wilson might run an item on the pronunciation of the Ulster county’s name for the benefit of those RTÉ contributors, generally on GAA matters, who habitually talk of a place called “Tyre-own”. Just a thought.