Birmingham Post

This reveals that more people are living beyond the age of 100 than ever before in England and Wales. The number of centenarians has increased from 100 in 1911 to 9,000 in 2006, making this age group, bizarrely, the fastest growing.

Interviewing a centenarian was once a rite of passage for a trainee reporter. There were the practical considerations: would they still be alive by the time you made it to the old folks' home, and would they be able to hear and/or speak? I am not being cruel. These were, and are, the practicalities of the job.

Then there was the build-up to the big question: what's the secret of a long life? One prayed for a novel reply, something to stun the readers: a daily joint, a diet of deep fried Crunchie bars, cottaging, the thrill of shoplifting. Usually, however, the answer was: "Regular exercise and a tot of sherry."

Still, the story was a nailed on page lead for any glory-hunting cub reporter. On a slack news week, you might break on to page three or five. Not today. Centenarians are two a penny. If you manage to reach 100, you'll be lucky to creep on to page 39, just after the weekly magistrates' court round-up and before the small ads for pest control firms and lonely hearts clubs.

For despite the worst efforts of the NHS to euthanise elderly hip replacement patients with superbugs, standards of medical treatment and hygiene have improved survival rates of those between 80 and 100. By 2031, it is estimated there will be 40,000 members of the ton-up club, sparking a surge in demand for hula hoops, Brylcreem and Buddy Holly music.

So there is nothing entirely remarkable any more about hitting 100. And then there are people like Harry Patch.

At 108, Harry is Britain's second oldest man and the last soldier alive to have fought in the trenches during the First World War. It means he is the last survivor of five million infantrymen who went over the top on the Western Front. Ninety years ago, Harry fought in the infamous battle of Passchendaele, one of the 77,479 men who were killed or wounded in the Ypres Salient in September 1917. Harry was sent home after suffering a shrapnel wound; three fellow members of his Lewis gun team were killed by the same shell.

Harry, who describes war as "organised murder and nothing else," owes his rehabilitation, in part, to the treatment he received in Birmingham at No 2 Convalescent Camp, Sutton Coldfield. When he was well enough, he was given a weekend pass and headed into the city's YMCA. It was here that he met his future wife, Ada Billington, a Fort Dunlop worker, after accidentally knocking her off her feet in the street.

Harry and Ada, of Wellington, Shropshire, had been married for more than half a century when she died, aged 81, after a stroke. Astonishing, that was 31 years ago, in 1976. Harry also outlived his second wife, Jean, who died of cancer in 1984, and his two sons.

The old soldier's lifetime has been one of traumatic personal loss, but in his new autobiography, The Last Fight Tommy, written with historian Richard van Emden, Harry says: "I'm happy and that is all that concerns me today."

Refreshingly, when asked about the secret of a long life, he responded: "No idea."

Help the Aged, which does a sterling job, say there could be more centenarians like Harry Patch if more funding was made available to tackle conditions such as dementia, osteoporosis and stroke.

Easing physical pain is one thing; but longevity for longevity's sake is a double-edged sword. I recall meeting another First World War veteran, George Rice, who longed for the day he would die.

His hearing was poor, his mobility was limited and he simply had had enough.

Not everybody wants to live forever and George had to wait until he was 108 before he finally got his wish. Sometimes death can be a blessing, too.

* The Last Fight Tommy, by Harry Patch with Richard van Emden, is published by Bloomsbury, priced £16.99.