The 16-year-old who lied to join the Royal Marines and became one of the SBS's first men

Henry Francis, one of the last surviving Second World War veterans of the West of England, has died aged 101. The South Gloucestershire-born sailor — known throughout his life as Harry — enlisted in the Royal Navy in 1942 while still a teenager, having falsified his age so that he could be accepted for service.

His early years in the navy led him to the Royal Marines, and from there to the Special Boat Service, the clandestine military unit formed during the Second World War to conduct behind-the-lines operations. Francis was among the first men recruited to the SBS, and went on to serve on covert missions in Italy, Lebanon and Burma. He was wounded during his time in Burma, an experience he rarely discussed in detail.

His family said much of what he did during those years remains untold, because Francis remained bound by the Official Secrets Act and had never broken that undertaking. Speaking previously to the BBC, his daughter Teresa Betton explained that while her father did tell family stories, they were only ever fragments of his wartime service. "He tells the stories, but not all of them," she said, adding that he had signed the Official Secrets Act and honoured it throughout his life.

The scale of the secrecy, she suggested, was only sharpened by the losses he witnessed. Betton said: "What he gave for this country, all the friends that he lost... I'm so proud of him."

News of his death was confirmed through tributes posted by South Gloucestershire Armed Forces Day, a local organisation which has followed Francis and other veterans in the community. In a statement, organisers said his quiet bravery and remarkable life would not be forgotten, and that he belonged to a generation which gave everything so that others could live in freedom.

The same tribute offered condolences to his wife Gwen, as well as his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and to everyone who knew him. Francis had celebrated his centenary the previous year, surrounded by family and friends — a milestone marked by a visit from the Royal Marines Reserve Bristol.

During that visit, personnel from the reserve unit presented him with a personal message from General Sir Gwyn Jenkins, the First Sea Lord and Chief of the Naval Staff, recognising his extraordinary courage. Photographs of the occasion show the veteran seated at a table in front of a large Union Flag, in uniformed company, as a letter was read aloud.

Images of Francis in his younger years survive too, including a portrait of him as a young sailor in a white hat. A collection of his wartime medals, displayed alongside his military cap, is also held by the family.

Tributes from those who knew him locally have painted a picture of a man whose reputation extended well beyond his military service. Charlie Liston, who wrote on Facebook, told how she and Francis had been neighbours when she was younger, and remembered him helping her with a school project about the war.

In a more personal recollection, Liston described sitting in Francis's dining room with a cup of tea made by Gwen, listening as he shared part of his experiences fighting in Burma. She said the stories moved her deeply, prompting both tears and laughter, and recalled him as a mentor, a neighbour and a friend rather than simply a public figure. He will be missed, she wrote, "dearly."

Francis's life spanned most of a century, and much of it in the shadow of a conflict that he entered as an underage recruit and left having survived injuries that ended some of the men he served beside. That combination — a boy too young to be turned away, and a serviceman who kept his promises about silence for the rest of his days — is what those paying tribute have emphasised.

His death leaves a smaller cohort of Britain's Second World War generation, and in the West of England in particular, another of the last local survivors of that generation is gone. The organisation that organised his centenary celebration said his quiet bravery and remarkable life would not be forgotten; the tributes from friends and family suggest the same sentiment is widely shared.

Francis was married to Gwen, and the couple were together for many decades after the war. Alongside her, his children and grandchildren, and the wider community of veterans in South Gloucestershire, he leaves behind a reputation built not on the missions he never described, but on the service he gave and the story he was willing to tell.