A man recalls the fear that stalked his childhood: his father following his mother down the road with a knife; his mother hiding him in a haystack for the night so he'd be out of sight when the father returned from the pub; the violence and lovelessness that poisoned his feelings toward all men in authority.

"And I told myself: `I'll never be like him, I'll never do that' . . . But I've done all that - and worse." This anonymous man's simple, honest testimony must be among the most depressing things you can hear about domestic violence, the (literally) vicious cycle personified. His own evident desire for self-knowledge and change is small consolation, since his story must be repeated thousands of times around Ireland.

And it was only a small part of the occasionally hopeful, mostly dispiriting documentary from Clare FM that bore the apposite post-McColgan title, Why Didn't I Kill Him? (That's not a rhetorical question, and the women who spoke gave a range of depressingly credible answers.)

Paula Carroll's documentary marks yet another impressive programming achievement for the Clare commercial station. I must enter my usual health warning: most of this column's commentary about stations outside the capital is based (this time of year anyway) on cassettes in the post. Mostly I hear documentaries and other pre-recorded programmes rather than the live talk and music that is radio's staple crop.

For all I know, Clare FM is unexceptional in these latter departments. But the tapes I get reveal an ambition and scope in the documentary area that are second to none. For Why Didn't I Kill Him? the station got financial help from Combat Poverty and worked closely with Clare Haven House, a women's refuge in Ennis - sensible, appropriate relationships that might be too much hassle for some stations to organise, but which help make fine programmes possible. Why Didn't I Kill Him? was a powerful response to any notion that the tables have decidedly turned against oppressive men in personal relationships. One woman - who was subject to constant threats, mental torture and verbal abuse from the husband she tried desperately to keep at arm's length - recalled a solicitor's none-too-subtle hints that she'd have to go back to her husband and get herself visibly injured before he could do anything for her case. The attitude of gardai was similar: "Until I'd turn up in the barracks with my arm in a sling and a bruised eye," they wouldn't take her seriously.

Although such stories were powerful, one of the strengths of this programme was its careful, partial shedding of the familiar formula: a sad tale, then some moody music (this time the Ooooo-ooo-ooo-oo- oooooo-ooow thing from the cider advert), then another sad tale, then an expert.

Refreshing the recipe were other, inconclusive but provocative voices whose provenance was unexplained: a woman explained with chilling coherence why a victim's privacy demands neighbours' silence. A man described a local child's behaviour and concluded; "I know he'll beat his wife." Teenagers talked about the dynamics of power, pride and romance that colour their view of relationships.

I came across an equally subtle and complex view of the human weave of emotions, behaviour and physical health. Mind, Body, Spirit (Dublin South Community Radio) was largely a collection of pretty New Age fantasies, but iridologist and herbalist Helen Begadon was a beacon of intriguing sense. "I can tell by the look in your eyes" might be her motto; spots on the iris, it seems, correspond to specific organs in a way that Eastern medicine comprehends and Western research validates. However, it was her intelligent interest in patients' emotional life, in particular, that gave holism a good name.

The gang at Today FM haven't actually asked me yet to host The Last Word (Monday to Friday), but it must be only a matter of time. (Not this week, if you don't mind, folks; this head-cold is playing havoc with my voice.)

In addition to 1998's most unlikely "personality", Fergus Finlay, the oft-absent Eamon Dunphy has been passably replaced by print journalists Matt Cooper and Kevin Myers (all names that reveal plenty about the programme's target audience). Last week it was the turn of Fintan O'Toole. Now of course we know O'Toole is a polished and accomplished broadcaster, a veteran of BBC radio and TV. But it was still-mildly, pleasantly surprising to hear him take to live drive-time in top gear. His restraint was most impressive: on Monday he let the show's Tory London correspondent, Geoffrey Wheatcroft, talk about Pinochet, and you couldn't even hear the blood trickling from Fintan's bitten tongue. His easy humour and quick verbal facility were welcome too: "It's easier to get a pint and short one in Saudi Arabia than to get a taxi in Dublin," he assured us one night. After taking an investment query for guest Shane Ross on Friday, he ad-libbed: "While that listener ponders his own budget, we'll turn to the nation's Budget . . ."

Another radio star is born.