A SINGLE voice from the crowd told in a simple, brief sentence the sad tale of the North-East working man.

"I used to be a steel worker," the man said, "and I'm an ex-shipyard worker, an ex-oil-rig worker and an ex-construction worker. I'm an ex-everything."

Add the job of coal miner and the middle-aged man would have personified the decline of every major North-East industry since the 1970s.

He pleaded for the people of the North-East to unite in fighting the closure of yet another proud industry, steelmaking on Teesside.

It was the everyday voices from the floor of yesterday's steel summit at Redcar Bowl that won the sympathy of the crowd.

Voices such as that of businesswoman Anne Preston of the Teesside Steel Distribution company. Desperate to keep work on Teesside, she explained the business has been forced to find work in the South, where it thrives. But still she refuses to abandon the Tees. Her story won thunderous applause.

Then there was Lackenby steelworker Richard Green. Mr Green won over the crowd when he said he was so proud of his fellow workers, as good as any in the world but struggling for the want of just a little investment. He, too, won massive applause.

There was venom as well as pride among the workers who turned up to yesterday's meeting - venom at Corus bosses for failing to turn up and venom at the Government for failing to provide British workers with the same rights as their colleagues in Europe.

"It's sad, really sad that Corus wouldn't come," said steelworker Peter Temple, of Normanby, who gave up a family day in the sun with son David, 13, and daughter Heather, 15, to attend the meeting. "It doesn't exactly send a hopeful message," he said.

Fellow steelman Steve Murray, who works at the Redcar plant, said: "It's a total lack of respect for their own workforce," he said. "It's just poor. I think they lacked the bottle. It adds to the worry all right."

Many blamed Corus's failure to attend for the turn-out of about 200, when up to 800 were expected.

Others blamed the good weather but one man who did not want to be named had a different view: "It doesn't matter what we do, how hard we work, how many meetings and protests we organise. They'll just do what they want - so what's the point of coming to something like this?"

As he spoke, television cameras whirred, and reporters scribbled in notebooks. The voices of steel on Teesside were about to be heard.