Sid Phillips and the Projectionist's Dong

You never knew Sid Phillips, did you? No matter, stout yeoperson, it's what happens when you put off being born until Bill Hayley (or was it the Rolling Beatles? or, heaven forfend, Freddy Mercury) came on stream in time to float your boat.
In my village there was a cinema, the Regal, about which I have already spoken. Three times a week, they changed the film, usually preceded by Pathe News, a cartoon and a commercial for Gilbert Harris Barber, "Hair Cut While You Wait".
But even before the breathless excitement of the news, the cartoon and Gilbert Harris slicing off an unguarded ear, they played music, of which, for me, the most memorable was "Twelfth Street Rag", played by Sid Phillips and his Band. Mr P played clarinet, and was the reason why I took up that instrument at Grammar School.
I had more than my share of that record at the Regal, hearing it not only three times a week sitting in the twopenny stalls, but also - such privilege! - upstairs in the projectionist's sanctum whenever I could get up there of an afternoon via the outside metal staircase.
There was a downside, namely his insistence on showing me his erect penis every time I went up there, but such is the lure of music -especially the divine dixieland strains of Twelfth Street Rag - that I put up with his penile obsession.
To be fair to the guy - he was finally jailed for doing nasty things to a young girl - he never molested me, but I ended up very confused, sharing my time between listening to Sid Phillips and telling the projectionist that, yes, it was a truly magnificent dong that he was waving under my nose.
What can I tell you? The path of the musician has never been an easy one.