My uncle Francis Jones, who has died aged 102, was a Londoner through and through. His last job was with the Greater London council, in the refuse disposal department, where he helped to decide on the destination of all of the capital’s rubbish and how to get it there.

He wrote a strong letter to Margaret Thatcher before she abolished the GLC in 1986, because most boroughs did not have adequate disposal sites or transport. She went ahead anyway – and there are now about 100 waste authorities in London. Francis was also an expert on the buses, tubes and railway systems of London Transport and it was often easier to ask him than to consult a timetable.

He was born in Finchley, north-west London, the eldest of three children of Christopher Jones, who worked for the London county council, and his wife, Kathleen (nee Robinson), and went to Clifton college in Bristol, then Queen’s College, Oxford, where he studied modern languages.

His life in London, with visits to theatres and museums, was interrupted by the second world war, during which he spent time in army training camps and then in North Africa and Italy with the Royal Artillery.

His poor eyesight (he was already wearing glasses in photographs taken in his pram) did not impair his ability to calculate the range and bearing for the guns. His family were surprised that the army did not make use of his fluent French and German, but Francis was good at keeping a low profile. He asked us not to mention his war record at his funeral but we did, because we are proud of his achievements.

After demob, he tried teaching languages, but his poor sight and increasing deafness made this difficult and finally Francis settled happily in the LCC, at first as a clerical officer, then rising through the ranks in the chief engineer’s department, and later transferring to its successor organisation, the GLC, from where he retired in 1981.

Colleagues testified to his efficiency and hard work and, once discovered, his sense of humour, unceasing interest in politics and love of London.

His hobbies were travel in Europe, where he visited friends, Mensa, “lethal” Scrabble and volunteering at Oxfam. He would bombard his MP with letters, and family and friends all over the world will miss his letters and telephone calls, and, more recently, emails. He was a Guardian reader to the end, in very large print on his computer.

He is survived by four nieces, Helen, Ruth, Catherine and me, and a nephew, Richard; and by three great-nieces and seven great-nephews.