The Daimler engine, by comparison, struck me as clattering and harsh, more like a barrel full of hammers rolling down a staircase. I flashed a look of concern at the Russell Group’s Chief Engineer, Gerry Bettridge. His cheerful grin seemed to confirm that this cacophony was not unusual.

Looking straight ahead I took note of the 3-point attitude: completely blind, save for two small strips of horizon visible at the edges of the windscreen. Mentally noting the 3-point attitude wasn’t enough. I would need to quickly re-establish this view when it came time to land, so I took out my secret weapon. Using a black grease pencil I drew the meagre horizon line on the inside of the windscreen.

The engine sounded happier, if the growling Daimler could be described as “happy”, and this time the top of the manoeuvre managed to achieve 2300 feet of altitude gain. Clearly any pilot wishing to obtain maximum performance from the Bf-109E would need to carefully regulate propeller speed. Unfortunately, this draws the pilot’s attention into the cockpit, rather than allowing him to focus outside where the dangers lurk. I was left wondering whether the young lads who flew the Bf-109E in combat really applied that degree of finesse, or whether the circumstances of combat necessitated cruder engine handling.

Loops were enlightening. The low directional stability could result in comically large heading variations unless careful rudder coordination was applied. I was reminded of a long-ago instructor of mine, who remarked upon seeing my aerobatics, “Nice loop. Now do one to the right.”

Pulling out of the dive, I discovered that the Bf-109’s elevators became distressingly heavy at high speed. I had read wartime accounts of Spitfire pilots taking Bf-109s into steep high-speed dives, knowing that the Bf-109 would be unable to pull out. This was a convincing demonstration, requiring a two-handed pull to achieve a 3.5 ‘g’ recovery at 450 km/hour. I flashed past my adversary like it was standing still. With a gallant salute, I disengaged.