AT LAST! NOW I am a proper Shuttleworth pilot, having flown what could fairly be described as a marginal aeroplane. Ever since I joined the Collection, when I emerged joyous from some new type, various pilots have been making dark comments, like 'Just wait until you fly the LVG!' Now I see what they mean.

There is a reassuring presence about the LVG. A large, stoutly made biplane, it looks solidly Teutonic. There are plenty of bracing wires, and not only in each of the four bays between the wings--I notice particularly the drag brace that runs through the nose to the leading-edge of each lower wing. Just for good measure, the wooden-clad fuselage is reinforced with wallpaper. Actually, this was done as a cheap and ingenious way of reproducing an authentic natural wood finish and covering up the lozenge pattern camouflage that had been incorrectly applied to the fuselage in some past restoration.

Unlike most aircraft of the period, the tail surfaces are strongly constructed. Up front is a Benz Bz IV in-line, water-cooled, straight six engine, driving a large and beautiful fixed-pitch, wooden, two-bladed propeller. The exposed valve gear and tall vertical exhaust stack are all in keeping with the practical and unsophisticated character of the machine. With only 230 hp, unsupercharged, I do not expect a lot of performance--but I am certainly confident that it will all hold together!

Those long, rather high aspect ratio wings have pretty scallops along their trailing-edges, There is no discernible dihedral (there is one degree); a rather elegant upward sweep to the ailerons is said to be a last minute attempt to give the top wings, at least, a greater measure of dihedral. Roger Bailey, who is briefing me for the flight, moves the big rudder from side to side over an arc that approaches 140°. Those factors, the excessive power of the rudder and the inability to generate roll with yaw (dihedral effect) will dominate the LVG's handling qualities.

Clambering up to the cockpit, I pause to look in at the observer's position. It is a round, wood-lined well, empty now, but with ample room for a man to stand. The Parabellum machine gun is still mounted on the cockpit's circular wood rim. Moving forward, I climb into the pilot's cockpit. This, too, is generously sized. The seat is reminiscent of an antique garden chair; a regular pattern of holes drilled out of the base and back are the first concession to lightness that I have seen. I settle into the seat and find it comfortable. However, its position is fixed, and my natural eye line gives me a scan of only the lower half of the instrument panel.

The ASI is tucked away in the top left-hand corner of the panel and I can only see the very bottom of the instrument. I can readily see V_ne (120 mph), but the more useful speeds in the approach range are well out of view unless I duck my head. Similarly, the critically important inlet and outlet radiator temperature gauges are blanked from view by the overhang of the coaming. I later found out why this is--the cockpit evaluation was done by Desmond Penrose, whose sitting height gives him a much lower eye line.

All the main controls have a singular and rather pleasing character. The stick has two vertical pads of brown leather for hand grips. Between them is the trigger for the forward-firing Spandau gun that still nestles along the right side of the upper fuselage decking ahead of the cockpit. It should be in as-new condition--it is hard to imagine that the LVG could ever be manoeuvred into a firing position in air combat.

Lower down on the control column, rather inconveniently placed, there is a lever which can be used to increase the friction in the elevator circuit, so that the aircraft can be flown hands-off in pitch. The rudder bar is indeed a bar, being a single, elegantly shaped piece of polished wood. The throttle<