Baked Eggs

This is one of my mother’s ‘signature’ dishes, although she’d be perplexed as to what a ‘signature’ dish is. When we used to arrive home, late, from holiday, the house would be cold and dark, the fridge bare. But my sister and I would collect the eggs, and my mother would break them into ramekins, splosh in a little cream from the top of the milk bottle and dot with butter.