There are now a record number of centenarians in the UK. We asked six of them what they most enjoyed and most regretted in their eventful lives – and what tips they have for the rest of us to join them in the 100 club

For her 100th birthday last year, Joyce Fisher apparently had one wish. She wanted the Dreamboys, the unnaturally buff troupe of male strippers, to visit her residential care home in Ipswich – or so Lyn, one of the staff, tells me on the phone as she walks to Joyce’s room. When Joyce comes on the line, I ask if this is true. She laughs. “I didn’t!” I can hear Lyn in the background saying, “I asked you what you wanted for your birthday and you said The Full Monty. You wanted all the men to strip off for you.” Joyce giggles. She had a visit from two Ipswich Town footballers instead, which, as a lifelong fan, she loved. (They kept their clothes on.)

In reaching her 100th birthday, Joyce is obviously unusual – but not as unusual as she would once have been. According to the Office for National Statistics, the number of people aged 100 or more has quadrupled over the last two decades, and there are now a record number of centenarians in the UK: 14,570 at the last count. In 2015, 850 people reached 105, and more generally, life expectancy has increased by 13 weeks a year since the early 1980s for males and 9.5 weeks a year on average for females.

Centenarians are often asked for health advice, for tips on how to reach old age (inevitably, it seems, they have indulged at least lightly in all the drinking or smoking you’re supposed to avoid). But they are rarely asked about what they have learned about how best to live. What can we relative youngsters learn about how we should spend our time? I’ve been tracking down and speaking to centenarians in person, over email or on shouty phone calls (for those who are hard of hearing), to see what they recommend. What have they most enjoyed? What do they most regret? And what are their secrets for a fulfilled life? (Not surprisingly, most of those I’ve spoken to have been women; in 2012 the gender ratio for centenarians was 588 women for every 100 men, although this was down from 828 women for every 100 men in 2002.)

Most of those I speak to are also strikingly happy, but that doesn’t mean they have never wished their circumstances had been different. Joyce, 101, was bright and passed her 11-plus, going on to work as a clerk in the corn merchants in Norfolk during the second world war. She would have liked more of a career, she says. “I nearly did. During that period they asked me to go for an interview in the Foreign Office as a secretary. My boss phoned up to say I couldn’t go because I worked in food” (a reserved occupation, which meant Joyce was exempted from enlisting). “Also, my mother had two sons already abroad, one in the war, and the other, we didn’t know where he was. So they were not going to let me go. I often wonder what would have happened, who I’d have met. It wasn’t meant to be.”

She also wishes she had had children, but that was the choice she and her husband made. When their relationship started he was married to someone else and they lived together for 10 years until they could get married – they didn’t want to have a child out of wedlock. “In those days, it was the shame; you were looked down upon. So we made up our minds that we wouldn’t have children until we got married, and it was a bit late then. But I have wonderful nephews and nieces.” Does she regret abiding by society’s rules? “No,” she says with certainty, “we didn’t want to bring them up until we got married.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Don’t worry about things – I was happy-go-lucky, I enjoyed life’ ... Joyce Fisher, taking a ride on the light railway

She would have liked to have done more travelling, though she and her husband did once spend eight weeks touring Europe in a caravan. And she wishes she had kept in touch with friends. “I wish I had asked my mother more about her father. I never asked about past family. When you’re young, you’re not interested. It’s when you get old like me you wish you had asked.”



Her advice for younger people is “not to worry about things, although you’re only human, you can’t help it. But on the whole I was happy-go-lucky, I enjoyed life. We’re only here for a short time. We’re given our own will to live as we want and it’s up to us to live properly.” She hasn’t wasted time, she says. “In spite of everything, I had a good marriage. I was engaged and that fell through, then I met my husband. He was married, but unhappy. I was unhappy. And we made each other happy.”

Joan Willett, 101, never married or had children. “I’ve always been quite independent,” she says. She was a teacher her whole working life. “It never occurred to me that I wanted children of my own – I spent my time with other people’s children.” Did she have boyfriends? “Oh yes,” she says. “You don’t necessarily have to get married, do you?” She sometimes wishes she had been married, “but it didn’t worry me to that extent.” Were there relationships she feels she wasted time on? “Yes, but I didn’t waste long,” she laughs. “But there were one or two … I don’t know if I wish I’d never met them, because you learn – you learn people are not always what they seem.”

'Food was scarce. That’s why I don’t like parsnips, because we always had parsnips – everyone grew those'

We sit in the sunny conservatory of the residential care home where she has lived for more than 20 years. Her hair is in soft neat curls, and her delicate hands sit in her lap, but she seems to buzz with energy. When she came to the home, she wasn’t well – she had just had three heart attacks, followed by a double heart bypass and a valve replacement. Today, she is in fine health, and looks 20 or 30 years younger than her age. She goes for a walk every day, to the seafront or to visit friends. Her hearing is good; only her eyesight seems to be failing her, but she learned to use a computer at 88, so now reads the paper online every day, zooming in on the text. “I think taking an interest in everything that’s going on is most important,” she says. “I may not understand it all, but I think you should take an interest.”

Joan was born in Hastings in 1916. Her father, who was fighting in France, didn’t meet her until she was two. Her mother worked in a grocer’s shop so Joan was largely brought up by her grandmother. She won a scholarship to the high school, and by the time she was 19 she had trained as a teacher in London, teaching 50 children in a class. When the second world war broke out she was given the choice of leaving with the evacuated children or staying to teach those left behind. She stayed in London. It was frightening “but exciting in some ways,” she says. “When I look back, I feel we never thought we were going to lose the war. It never occurred to any of us. You carried on and took every day as it came. It was a bit tiring when we had nine months of air raids. The children used to come to school absolutely worn out. It became part of your life, you never thought of it any other way. Food was scarce. That’s why I don’t like parsnips, because we always had parsnips – everyone grew those.”

Afterwards, she returned to Hastings and taught until her retirement. Are there things she wishes she had done? “I would have loved to have gone to university. I would have liked to have travelled a lot, seen the world. I’ve seen a bit of Europe, but only on package holidays. And I wish I’d taken up golf earlier.” Are there things she wishes she had spent less time on? “I don’t think so. I’ve only done things I’ve wanted to do. I liked being out of doors. I played tennis, golf, squash.” You shouldn’t “just sit down and let the world go by,” she says. “I think you should keep working, keep moving, keep doing things. You’ve been given a brain – use it.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘You’ve been given a brain – use it’ ... Joan Willett. Photograph taken at Old Hastings House in Hastings by Martin Godwin for the Guardian

Joan’s approach to happiness is one that has regularly been shown to improve both mental and physical health: practising gratitude. “When I go to bed,” she says, “I look back on my day and think, what was the nicest thing that’s happened to me today? It might be something I’ve seen, or something someone said, or something I’ve accomplished. That’s become a habit now.” One of the most damaging traits she has observed in other people, she says, is “people are often very ungrateful”.

John Jeans-Winkworth, 100, was born in Bath and served in the army during the second world war. Afterwards he was a grocer and then, when the supermarkets started to dominate, he worked as a security guard before retiring in 1981. He says he would have liked to have been a professional singer. “But I can’t sing,” he adds, laughing. Contentment with what you have is the key to happiness, says John. And he has zero tolerance for regrets: “I have no regrets whatsoever.”

The only regrets Mary Zorichak, 101, has are that she didn’t do more gardening and didn’t travel more. The secret to a happy life, she says, is to “keep busy, both physically and with your mind”.

This is 101-year-old Marnie’s advice too. She emails me from Aberdeen, with the help of her daughter. “Keep busy and active,” she says. “When I was young I cycled or walked everywhere. I only learned to drive later in life. I’ve always gardened, sewed, knitted, played the piano and read. It’s important to keep your mind active and stay in touch with the world. I’ve read books all my life and still read constantly. Every day I tackle the crossword in my local newspaper.”

Marnie hasn’t always enjoyed good health. Growing up on a farm in the Highlands, she contracted bovine TB, and has had arthritis most of her life and heart disease in later years. “So I don’t know why I’ve lived so long, but I was always outdoors as a child living in the country. We ate lots of fruit and vegetables and fish, with very little meat. We had a lot of milk, crowdie [traditional Scottish cheese], and butter as children.” She thinks her longevity is probably genetic – her grandmothers lived into their 90s. She smoked a little but gave up for good in the 1960s and was only an occasional drinker; these days she has a dram of whisky once a week.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Family comes first – do anything you can to protect and advise them’ ... Marnie with four more generations of her family, including great-great-grandson Jack

Marnie left home to train as a nanny and later moved with her husband and children to Aberdeen, where they ran a boarding house. She was happiest, she says, “Whenever we had more money and when the family were young.”

Her advice is that “family comes first, and do anything you can to protect and advise them – if they’ll take it. Don’t spend what you don’t have. Keep as active as you can – using your hands and mind, and don’t just sit around stagnating. I still bake my own bread, although usually in a breadmaker now.”

As I speak to the centenarians, common themes start to emerge. Just about every one says how important it is to keep active and engaged with the world. Several wish they had done more travelling, or had more time with loved ones, or spent less time worrying. There are strikingly few regrets.

At her residential home in Surrey, Rose Lamprey shows me a black and white photograph of her husband, Colin. “He’s handsome,” she says, and he is, with neat fair hair and elegant bone structure. They were married for 70 years, until his death at 90. What’s the key to a long, happy marriage? “Love,” she says, straight away. “If you love him to bits, like I loved my husband to bits … There were things we didn’t agree on, but love will overcome everything.”

'The midwife couldn’t get to me because of the air raids. I birthed [my daughter] myself, I did her cord and everything'

Rose is 103 and only moved into residential care after a fall; at 100, she was still living at home in Wales. She uses a wheelchair now, but otherwise seems in good shape. She is wearing a fabulous printed dress, and has a strong Welsh accent and a spirited look. She was born in 1914. Her father worked at the Prince of Wales dry dock in Swansea after the first world war, painting numbers on the ships. Rose became a nurse. She and Colin had two daughters, one of which she delivered herself, alone in an air-raid shelter, during the second world war. “The midwife couldn’t get to me because of the air raids. I said, ‘don’t worry’. I thought, if the baby comes, I’ll have to do it myself.” She took her supplies – water, blankets, a string to tie the umbilical cord – down to the shelter in a bucket. “I birthed her myself, I did her cord and everything.”

She’s had “a wonderful life. If I die tomorrow, no crying, no weeping.” Any regrets? “No, no regrets. I’ve lived a full life. I’ve lived a happy life ... I had a very happy marriage, lovely kids.” What is the biggest mistake people make in their lives? “They’re not satisfied with what they’ve got,” says Rose.

She has always been busy – she played the piano and enjoyed painting – which, she says, is very important. “Be interested in everything, in what’s going on. Don’t sit back and vegetate.”

Rose has lost her husband and her friends. What is it like to live beyond them? “Well, nobody lives for ever, love.” But she must have lived through a lot of sadness? “There’s no good being miserable and mourning,” she says firmly, “and making your family mourn, making your family say, ‘Mum is terribly unhappy.’ It’s no good. Try to think, God is going to take all of us. When he takes me, my Colin will be there and he’ll say: ‘Why have you been so long, love?’”